


At A Loss For Words

by staymagical



Series: At A Loss For Words [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Hurt Merlin, Mute!Merlin, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Arthur, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has finally managed to retrieve his servant from the hands of ruthless slavers. But no matter how much he may wish it, things will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a simple one-shot for a theme fill and now 50k words later, I don't think I can claim that anymore. Hope you all enjoy it. Let me know what you think

Arthur really did not want to be here. Anywhere else, literally anywhere, would have been preferable. But he was here for a reason, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see it through. He owed Merlin that and much much more.

Besides if he didn’t want to be here of his own free will and choice, he didn’t even want to know how Merlin must have felt. He didn’t really have a say in it. Arthur was hoping to change that.

There was no smell of rot and filth like one would assume would go hand-in-hand with such a place, though Arthur assumed there was plenty of it throughout. The floors were swept and tidy but a feeling of filth still lingered. Not a bit of straw covered the bottom of any of the surrounding cells. That was...odd. This was not where they were normally kept then. Arthur suppressed a shiver. He didn’t even want to know what those quarters looked like.

“Ah, this one may not look like much but he’s a hard worker.” They had paused in front of the third cage and Arthur’s heart skipping a beat as he recognized the mop of black hair and thin frame that was shackled within. “Reckon he was a servant to some noble back in the day so he has high stamina…if you know what I mean.” The man winked at Arthur who had to stop himself from shuddering at the implication. “Non-verbal and loaded. Comes with a month’s supply.”

“Loaded?” Arthur had never heard the term before but it didn’t sound good.

“Ah yes, I forgot. Ya’re a new customer,” the man said, nodding. “When we get our merchandise they sometimes are a bit…uncooperative. It’s to be expected. So we drug ‘em with a special concoction—I invented it myself.” Arthur wanted nothing more than to smack the man’s proud grin right off his face. That and run the man through with his sword. Several times. “It makes ‘em more…let’s just say it makes ‘em more compliant. They follow orders better without shutting down completely. Still functional, just less likely to run off on ya.” The man stood a little straighter, his grin turning into one of content as though he was proud of taking away a person’s will. Which, Arthur suspected with disgust, he probably was.

“I see. That’s….useful.”

The slaver barked a laugh. “Even more useful when they misbehave—which is rare but does happen sometimes—this one especially I might warn ya but he’s a good worker in all aspects.” Another wink causing Arthur’s anger to rise further. “The drug makes it easier to punish ‘em too. Just take it away and by the next day they’re going through severe withdrawals and practically begging for it. That’s why we provide a few weeks’ supply with loaded purchases. It’s potent and highly addictive ya see and we mix it in with the water and food to get ‘em reliant upon it quicker. This is a fast business, can’t waste time waiting for things to kick in, now can we.” The man elbowed Arthur in the side, wanting to share the joke, but Arthur just wanted to vomit.

He schooled his features, even though he was practically fuming with anger. He knew how drug addicts were affected and knew about the pains that came with withdrawal. Had even seen it first hand and it was a sight he would never forget. He wouldn’t even wish this fate upon his worst enemies let alone his manservant and—dare he say it—friend.

“No you certainly cannot.”

The man smiled with pride, causing Arthur to force down a shiver at his obvious love for cruelty. “Now what kind of slave do you want exactly? Is this for labor, pleasure, translation, battle?”

“Ummm labor mostly.” He tried not to think about the kind of men who came here to purchase a slave with the intention of actually using them.

“Ah, good. Be just fine then, this one. Can’t be much of a translator now can he, non-verbal and all.”

“Non-verbal?”

“Can’t speak.”

Arthur’s eyes shot up at that. Never had he known Merlin to be one to hold his tongue. The boy was always chattering on about anything and sometimes it was a pain just getting him to shut up. Especially when given the chance to mouth off. Arthur just couldn’t see him passing by the opportunity to back talk to these captors. It was one of the reasons Arthur had been so concerned about his condition. And for good reason it seems.

“Well, not anymore,” the slaver continued, completely oblivious to the thoughts racing through Arthur’s head. “Had a mouth on ‘im when he arrived and no matter how loaded he got, we couldn’t get ‘im to shut it.” The man shrugged nonchalantly staring at the chained boy again. “He’s good now. Obedient and compliant once we cut out his tongue.”

\---- _five days earlier_ \----

Doran looked down his nose at slight boy shaking and practically bathing in his own fluids on the floor of the cell.

“How ya doing lad? Anything I can get ya?” he asked in a mocking tone, sneering.

Merlin didn’t say a word, instead opting for gritting his teeth as the shaking turned into slight convulsions. His head was pounding out a relentless tune as every inch of his body felt like it was on fire, sweat pouring off him in waves. He knew what the man wanted. Knew he wanted to continue to refuse with every fiber of his being. But he could feel his concentration wavering, the need overpowering his mind and filling his every thought. This is what they want.

Withdrawal.

From the day he had been taken, grabbed right out of the woods surrounding Camelot as he was gathering herbs for Gaius, they had been forcing the drug down his throat. It kept him in a haze, like there was a blanket covering his mind keeping him compliant and thoughtless. But whether they physically forced it down or disguised it in his meager food or water, it didn’t matter. There had been no way around it. His body had become reliant upon it in a matter of days, unable to function properly without it but unable to function _normally_ with it. No magic, no free will, no escape.

“No? You know this could all end with just one word. Come on, boy.”

Merlin shook his head once, the pounding increasing with the movement.

“Oh well,” Doran shrugged before flashed him a knowing grin. “They all give in eventually. It’s only a matter of time.” And with those pleasing thoughts, the slaver turned and walked back down the dungeon corridor, the heavy iron door screeching shut behind him as he exited.

Merlin tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself he could do this, that it wasn’t so bad. But he knew better. At the start, it hadn’t been too terrible. Half a day without the drug only resulted in a slight headache, some anxiety and restlessness. His mind was slowly becoming more alert, but with it came headaches soon followed by nausea and a feeling of constriction in his chest. That night he couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline that had been repressed by the drug surging up through his body with vigor. Then came the sweating and shaking as the headaches only increased and he lost concentration here and there. Now he just felt positively ill not to mention he was trembling violently and his head was about ready to break open. Not the best feeling in the world. And it was only going to get worse the longer he went without the drug.

But he refused to beg for it. Even though he could feel his resolve crumbling with every minute that passed, with every bead of sweat that chilled him to the bone yet made him feel like he was burning from the inside out and every tremor that wracking his weakened body. He didn’t want to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him break but he didn’t think he would have much of a choice soon.

And it was only made that much worse by the fact that he could feel his magic now as the drug left his body but was unable to focus enough through the pain to use it. Useless, just useless.

Slavers. That’s all these men were. Large, burly, completely ruthless but just a bunch of slavers nonetheless, only out to make a profit by capturing travelers and wanderers in the woods and selling them in the underground market. And Merlin had been unlucky enough to catch their eye. Really though he could have easily escaped. That is if Doran hadn’t distracted him while his companion snuck up behind him and clobbered him over the head. Cheaters.

It had been days now, Merlin was sure of it. Maybe even a week. All right, he wasn’t actually sure how much time had passed since he had gotten caught, but he was sure it couldn’t have been more than a week. And really that was an awfully long time to be missing. Surely someone had noticed he had disappeared. Gaius most definitely. Arthur probably wouldn’t care much besides the fact that his chambers were a complete disaster and his armor needed a good polish. He most likely thought his manservant had tripped and knocked himself out again. Typical.

So that left Merlin on his own. He had to find his own way out of this hellhole.

The young warlock was broken out of his racing thoughts by a severe cramping in his stomach. He just barely had time to turn to the side and brace his hands on the floor before the contents of his stomach splattered all over the cell floor. Again. As if the amount of fluids around him weren’t enough already. But at the moment he couldn’t be bothered by it. He just wanted this all to end.

He was losing it. Not just his stomach contents but his resolve. He didn’t want to, he really didn’t. These men were cruel and nothing short of brutes, they didn’t deserve his pleading. And he didn’t want to show them how they were breaking him, piece by piece until there was nothing of himself left to put together. But they were.

He couldn’t take it any longer. He was sure that despite what the slavers said, he would not survive the withdrawals. The pain was too great, the symptoms too severe. The physician in him knew he couldn’t last more than another day. This needed to end now.

A sob escaped the warlock’s throat. He didn’t want to, but he had no choice.

Like the man could hear the young warlock’s thoughts, Doran appeared beyond the bars. Merlin hadn’t even heard him approach. He really was losing it.

“How’s our little trooper doin’?”

Merlin grit his teeth so hard he was sure they were going to crack. But he slumped, his mind having let go. And it hurt. It hurt so bad to give in like this. But if he wanted to increase his chances of survival, he had no choice.

“P-pp-plea-a-se.” The word came out barely more than a whisper, choppy and almost incomprehensible.

“What was that boy? I didn’t quite hear ya?” The man sneered, unable to keep the cruel joy from spreading across his face.

“P-p-ple-e-ase” he rasped, stronger but only slightly.

“Speak up, boy. Can’t hear ya,” Doran continued to mock.

“P-ple-e-ease!”  
A smug smile mared Doran’s face. “Told ya, ya all give in eventually,” he stated as he unlocked the cell door and approached the warlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur felt dirty in so many ways. For one, he couldn’t believe he had willingly entered the underground market. For another, he had bought a human being in the underground market. Granted it was Merlin and all for the sake of freeing him from what would have been a very hard and cruel life—which somehow made the entire thing even worse seeing as Arthur should not have to buy his friend’s freedom in the first place—but still he had purchased him like an animal. No worse, like property. 

And the entire time the exchange had been taking place, Arthur watched Merlin as he stood completely motionless, his head bowed submissively, as though the fight had been taken right out of him a long time ago. Arthur hoped it was all just for show.

The servant’s balance was slightly off as if he was favoring his left leg with his wrists bound together in front of him with a long piece of rope, the end of which was clutched in Doran’s meaty hands ready to hand over to Arthur once payment was received. Arthur had to bite his tongue and force himself to remain stoic on multiple occasions throughout the entire exchange. At the end, once the money was in the slaver’s greedy hands, Merlin was hauled over roughly and the drug Doran had mentioned was forced down his throat. Arthur had almost lost it at that. But he couldn’t give his identity away. These men didn’t know he was the king, they just thought he was another sleazy noble or knight who desired cheap labor he could work hard and not care about.

And still Merlin’s eyes never met Arthur’s through it all. It was unnerving and yet heart wrenching knowing that his usually intractable, cheerful servant had been reduced to this.

And to know that, no matter how much he may have berated him for it, Merlin would never talk again. All the jokes, all the insults, all the unexpected and incredible wise advice would never be heard again. Arthur’s heart clenched.

All the times he had told Merlin to shut up, this is not what he had in mind. The guilt of those words weighed down upon the king’s shoulders as he looked upon his now mute friend. He wouldn’t wish this fate upon anyone, least of all Merlin.

It broke Arthur’s heart while simultaneously making his blood boil. These men not only kidnapped, beat, and broke his friend but also permanently disabled him. For life. No matter where Merlin’s life went after this, he would always carry what happened to him with him whether he wanted to or not. No one deserved that, especially Merlin.

Now, the two of them were silently making their way back to Camelot after Arthur had been forced to lead Melin away by his bonds. As much as it pained him, they had to keep up pretenses, at least until they reached the tree line and he could relieve Merlin of both his bonds and the hassle of walking. A bag of dried powder that was supposedly a months supply of the wretched drug had been placed in his hand despite his assurances that it would not be necessary. But Doran had just given Arthur a wink and refused to take the small bag back.

He had almost been unable to do it, anger coursing so strongly through his blood. And the guilt. The guilt was killing him. It was all his fault, he knew that. It was his duty as king to serve and protect his people and he had failed his most loyal of subjects. And now it was practically eating him alive.

Gwaine, Percival, and Leon, once they had painstakingly tracked and discovered Merlin’s whereabouts, had refused to let Arthur go on this mission alone and were, at this moment, patiently waiting for the king to return just a short distance from the market. They had even offered to go and personally retrieve Merlin themselves knowing what they might—or might not—find in the process. But Arthur had refused, knowing he needed to do this himself. It was only a small fraction of what he owed Merlin.

Arthur was brought out of his thoughts by a small gasp from the young man sitting in front of him as the horse jostled them slightly.

“Merlin? You alright? Do you need to stop?

Black hair shook vigorously in negative but stopped abruptly as his body tensed with the movement even more. Arthur winced. Riding was probably not helping him much if he was injured, as Arthur assumed he was. The king pulled on the reins, effectively halting the horse’s progress and hopped off before taking ahold of the reins once more.

“You’re a terrible liar, Merlin. Really, I don’t even know why you try.” Arthur sighed, glancing at their surrounding before his expression turning serious. “We should be far enough away from the market now.”

Arthur turned back to Merlin, still atop the horse. He knew what came next and despite his desire to remain ignorant of just how poorly his servant had been treated, he needed to know what injuries the man had sustained that were hidden beneath his tattered clothes. He looked up at his friend, a mask of indifference shielding his worry.

Dark blue eyes stared back at him, begging him, pleading with him through the drug induced haze that clouded them to just let it go, that he was fine and to just take him home, away from the hell he had been living for the past two weeks. The guilt in Arthur grew. He just wanted to give in, to do whatever it took to please Merlin, but he knew this was not something he could ignore. His friend could be injured, severely, and delaying the inevitable would only make it worse.

“I’m sorry Merlin but I have to. You know I have to. I would wait until we met up with the others but I’m afraid you’d only worsen.”

Merlin made a strangled sort of noise, eyes going wide and fear flashing across his face. It took a moment for Arthur to realize that his friend was trying to speak out of habit but unable to form words around his disability. It drove an arrow of sorrow straight through Arthur’s heart, making him physically wince and look away so Merlin wouldn’t have to see the pity in his eyes.

But ignoring that, Arthur understood what his friend wanted, what the fear that had shone in his eyes was all about.

Merlin didn’t want anyone else to see him like this.

And Arthur couldn’t blame him. He would feel the same way in Merlin’s position. But there was no helping it. They were going to see him eventually.

“Well, I couldn’t come alone now could I?” Arthur chided cocking his eyebrow at his friend as he slowly helped him down off the horse. “Not that they would let me anyway,” he mumbled.

A small smile made an appearance on Merlin’s face but it was soon replaced with a wince as his feet hit the ground and his left leg took his weight. He quickly straightened as best he could and schooled his expression, before glancing up at Arthur through his lashes, no doubt checking if the king had seen. Arthur just rolled his eyes, letting out a huff. Of course he had seen. Arthur was not as oblivious as everyone thought he was. And Merlin really was an idiot sometimes.

The king helped his friend over to a nearby tree and sat him down before going to his saddlebags and retrieving the small medical kit Gaius had given him before they left. It was Merlin’s kit, the one he brought with him when he followed Arthur on every mission and every patrol. It seemed almost ironic that his friend’s own kit would now be used upon its owner. Almost.

Arthur crouched before his friend and hesitated. He didn’t know where to start. This was the first time he had actually been able to scrutinize his friend’s condition up close. Merlin’s tunic was practically hanging off his thin frame in rags, tears and rips dotted throughout the now threadbare fabric. His trousers were none the better, coated in dirt and filth with a few holes and tears of their own, especially in the knees as though he had spent a lot of time upon them. Arthur gritted his teeth against the rising anger, trying his best to force it back down and focus on the task at hand. On Merlin.

There wasn’t much he could do to change what had happened to his friend, only heal the scars that were left behind. It was with that thought that Arthur glanced up at Merlin’s face and with a slight nod from the lanky young man, began the daunting task before him.

Arthur had always been one to downplay an injury or brush off a broken bone as though it were nothing but a bruise, but he had to admit that Merlin was a mess. After peeling off the layers of rags the young man wore, Arthur could see nothing of the pale skin that usually painted his body. Instead, there was layers upon layers of bruising, blood, and dirt all vying for attention upon his friend’s body. Everything from deep gashes upon his chest to large black bruises upon his lower back depicted the suffering he had gone through when at the mercy of those slavers.

And with every new injury Arthur uncovered he had to take a few seconds to calm himself so he wouldn’t end up charging back into that hell hole and laying it to waste. He couldn’t understand why anyone would ever treat another human being like this, let alone Merlin. The young man couldn’t even stand to watch Arthur kill a rabbit.

But after about an hour, rolls upon rolls of bandages and plenty of clean water, Merlin was bandaged up to the best of Arthur’s ability. He was actually proud of the job he had done, deeming it fit for the supplies he had and the time frame he was working within. Even Merlin gave him an approving nod as he moved his left leg where a particularly nasty gash on his thigh had been cleaned and wrapped.

But there was one injury Arthur had been putting off, not due to the gruesomeness of it but because he knew Merlin was ashamed of it. But like the rest, there was no way around it. He had to make sure his servant was alright and better to do it here away from the knights and prying eyes than later.

As though reading his mind, Merlin’s eyes locked onto Arthur’s, the same desperate pleading as before shining out of their depths. And it broke Arthur’s heart even more, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer. He needed to make sure.

“Don’t look at me like that Merlin. You know I have to. It could be infected, or worse…”Arthur trailed off not knowing what else to say. He paused for a second, hoping Merlin would relent easily, but the young man was keeping his mouth firmly shut, defiance set upon his face even as his eyes continued to plead with Arthur.

“Oh come on _Mer_ lin, don’t be such a girl’s petticoat.” Even as he said it, Arthur winced at the jibe. He wanted to revert to their old banter, to go back to the teasing and insults he always fell back upon in these kinds of situations. But he knew he couldn’t. Not now that they had become entirely one-sided.

But Merlin just shot Arthur a look, one that the king could clearly read as a denial to his statement. Arthur couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was such a Merlin look. Even without having to say a word, Arthur could tell that Merlin had insulted him back. Probably something to do with calling him a prat and a reminder to the king’s days confined to his bed with a cold that he wouldn’t stop complaining and whining about. No, not whining, king’s didn’t whine. Merely...voicing his displeasure.

Maybe things could go back to the way they were, despite what Merlin had been through.

As Arthur sobered up quickly, he focused back on Merlin and understood. No, things wouldn’t be the same. At least, not as they had been before. His friend, his servant had lost the ability to speak. The never ending chatter, quick insults and jibes, and even the unexpected wise advice were never to be heard again.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur tried again, this time, more sincerely than he had ever been before. Probably in his entire life. “It’s necessary, you must know that. Gaius would agree. Now please, open your mouth.”

It was the mention of the old physician that did it, Arthur told himself.

He tried to ignore the way Merlin’s eyes dimmed into ones of submission, as though it was no longer Merlin’s will that was in control. He tried to tell himself that Merlin could still refuse if he wanted to. But he knew it was a lie. The haze that clouded over his friend’s eyes with that simple direct order told him that Merlin was no longer in control. The drug still pumping through his system was. And Arthur had—however unknowingly—just brought it back into play. Just like the slavers.

Guilt crashed through Arthur like a wave so strong he had to forcibly stop himself from retching. He felt dirty all over again, just as cruel and heartless as the men who had harmed his friend. How could he have forced Merlin’s hand like this after everything the young man had been through? After the way he was treated? And now here was Arthur, treating him the same way by using the drug’s effects to his advantage. Granted, he hadn’t known exactly how the drug worked. He had thought Doran’s claim that Merlin had still talked back despite the drug meant that his friend was unaffected by it. Clearly that was not the case.

Arthur shook his head, pushing all the thoughts now warring for attention to the back of his mind. He couldn’t focus on that now. Later, once they had joined with the others and Arthur could go off and beat himself up about all that had occurred.

The king gently grasped his friend’s chin, tilting it down to give him a better vantage point into his mouth. There, at the bottom, where his tongue should be, was a stump, red and angry. Arthur felt the need to retch all over again. Seeing it made it all the more real. Made it so that he could no longer hold onto any shred of hope he had held since being told or his friend’s condition. Not that he had held onto much.

But the wound didn’t appear infected, despite the raw and blunt look.

Arthur quickly released his friend’s jaw, not wanting to look anymore and knowing there was nothing that he needed or could do for the wound.

He felt the overwhelming need to get moving, to reach his knights in an almost cowardly desire to no longer be alone with the evidence of his mistakes. He couldn’t even bring himself to look his friend in the eye, not with the drugged haze still resting there accusingly.

So without any further words, afraid he would make his friend’s state worse by accidently ordering him about, Arthur carefully and gently got Merlin back on the horse before mounting the animal himself. He circled his arms around his friend to ensure he wouldn’t fall off, grasped the reins and urged the horse on toward his knights, toward Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come, more to come. Hope you all are enjoying it so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur could almost see the exhaustion taking over Merlin's body when he finally jerked on the reins and steered the horse off the road toward the camp, but the young man continued to fight it off with determination. The king knew his friend was dreading the reunion with the knights, almost to the point of fear if the increasing tension in his shoulders as they neared the break in the trees ahead was anything to go by. He wished he could spare Merlin the humiliation and pity but the fact was it couldn't be helped. They were sure to follow the young servant like a shadow wherever he went now.

A fresh new wave of guilt washed over Arthur. But he didn't have any time to wallow in it.

They had arrived.

The horse broke through the remainder of the trees, entering the clearing that held the knights' make-shift camp. To the untrained eye, the small clearing looked uninhabited in even the smallest sense. But Arthur knew they were here. He was just thankful his men had actually followed his ridiculous orders to remain hidden. The protests that had resulted from that order were to be expected, especially from Gwaine, but it was for all their safety. If the slavers had somehow discovered Arthur's true identity, questions may have led them to the nearby camp and therefore put his men in danger along with himself and Merlin. Better to just risk himself than put them all in danger.

They were the only ones that knew where Merlin was, that had discovered the truth about his whereabouts. They hadn't wanted to waste any time informing the council or the queen of their discovery, just wanted to get Merlin back immediately and not leave him in enemy hands any longer. So without reporting back to the citadel nor attempting to rest and regroup, the small group of determined knights and their king had set out immediately.

Arthur let out a high three note whistle, a signal to his men that it was their king. In front of him, Merlin tensed, pulled taut like a bow string.

"It'll be alright, Merlin," Arthur soothed, hesitating slightly before patting the young man on the shoulder awkwardly. Comforting was not his strong point, especially comforting injured manservants. And really he had only had to do it once before, when Merlin had been struck down in the middle of an ambush in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. But at the time, Merlin had been able to lightened the mood by cracking jokes and keeping up a steady stream of banter so that Arthur's attempts at comfort were less awkward and more like their usual interactions. Except one of them had been dying. Now however, there was no banter, no jokes to be had. Just a silent nod from the man in front of him.

And it was the silence that Arthur couldn't tolerate. But he had to. If not just for his own sake, but also for Merlin's. He didn't want Merlin to know or see how much his newfound handicap was affecting him. Not when he was still able to do the things Merlin wasn't. It was hard enough on the young man to have to learn to live around his disability. He didn't need the added strain of guilt that Arthur knew he would feel if the king were to express his frustration. Merlin was just that way. He took the discomfort and anger and pain he caused others and blamed himself even though he had no reason to. He couldn't help that the slavers had decided to mutilate him, to take away his standard form of communication and make his way of life more difficult. But still, he would blame himself no matter who was really at fault. The selfless idiot.

The snapping of branches broke through Arthur's thoughts and he glanced up, sighing in relief at the sight of his knights making their way through the last of the underbrush. He dismounted in one graceful movement before reaching up and gently helping Merlin down from atop the horse. He tried to set the man on his feet as gently as possible, wary of the gash on Merlin's left leg but the wince on his friend's face as he set him down said he hadn't done a very good job.

"Ah Merlin mate aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gwaine beamed as the pair slowly approached the building fire Percival had immediate set about starting, Merlin leaning on Arthur as exhaustion got the better of him. "I was just telling Leon here how much I missed your constant chatter this trip. It was seriously dull without you mate. I had to fill in the silence by myself!"

Arthur winced as he watched Merlin's face fall. It wasn't Gwaine's fault, he didn't know. But that didn't stop the rage from building up within him.

"Gwaine." Arthur's voice held a warning tone as he released Merlin into the mentioned knights care in order to retrieve and lay out a bedroll by the fire for his friend. With a quick glance though he could see that the young knight didn't pick up on the warning. Gwaine opened his mouth to continue his innate speech, but Arthur cut him off quickly before the knight could make things worse than he already had.

"Why don't you go fetch some freshwater," Arthur suggested, turning to face the knight, his glare enough to shut anyone up and do as he requests. Except Gwaine of course.

"But-"

"Now, Gwaine." The order came out as more of a growl than a command. But Arthur couldn't care less right at the moment. Unbenounced to him, Gwaine had just inflicted a blow onto Merlin's already crumbling resolve and courage.

The knight grit his teeth in anger, his whole body coiled for a fight. But with one glance at Merlin, Gwaine gave the servant a pat on the back, letting go of the boy as the knight took a step back before performing an exaggerated mock bow. "Yes, _your majesty_ ," he spit out, sarcasm and disdain dripping from every word like poison. Then he turned, snatched up a couple of water skins and stomped off into the forest.

Arthur let out a sigh and turned back to his main concern, afraid of what he might find.

Merlin had lowered himself down onto the bedroll and was just sitting there by the fire, head down staring at his clasped hands. It was still only about mid-day and the sun high enough that their campsite was fairly well heated but Arthur had ordered a fire be lit. He knew Merlin's now threadbare rags that he had for clothing were doing next to nothing against the elements—not like the knights' tunic, doublet and chainmail which made Arthur a very poor judge on how warm it really was in the clearing—and the young man would catch his death if they didn't keep him warm. He even threw a blanket over Merlin's shoulders just as an extra precaution and was rewarded for it when the young man drew it in close around him

Arthur may not have been able to see Merlin's face as the young man had his head down, but he could read his emotions through the slump of his shoulders and the sagging of his limbs. He was wallowing in sorrow, being slowly eaten apart by self pity, guilt, and shame and Arthur hated it. He couldn't help it if his rage was at first directed toward Gwaine for bringing this back to the forefront for Merlin but that rage soon turn toward those that deserve it.

The slavers.

They were the whole reason behind Merlin's current depression—because that's what it was no matter how many times Arthur told himself otherwise, that Merlin would be back to his old bubbly self in no time—and Arthur would love nothing more than to march right back to that hell they called home and slaughter the lot of them. He wanted to kill them a thousand times over for what they did to his friend and he had no doubt that once the rest of the knights knew, they would be right there beside him committing mass murder.

The knights. Arthur sighed, running his hand down his face in resignation. He knew he had to tell them, knew he had to let them know what had been done to Merlin but he didn't want to. If not only because it was hard for him to relay what had befallen his friend but because he knew Merlin would hate the pity, anger, and concern that he would receive upon the knight's realization. And Arthur really didn't want to put his friend through any more than he had already been through. But the truth was they were going to find out anyway and it would be better for them to do so through Arthur than through their own discovery. Better for Merlin anyway. Or so he hoped.

"Leon. Percival," he called out as calmly as he could, trying not to betray in his voice the devastating news he was about to relay to them. The knights in question looked up, their eyes meeting their king's and nodding as one as they understood his need to talk to them privately. He jerked his head to the side, toward where Gwaine had disappeared and strode off in that direction. He could hear the footfalls of his knights following.

As luck would have it, Gwaine was just returning from the river, his low agitated mumblings reaching Arthur's ears as he stepped into the surrounding forest. Gwaine looked up at the sound of Arthur's footsteps and scowled.

"What? I got the water, _milord_. Was there something else the princess desired or do you just want to berate me some...more," Gwaine broke off as Leon and Percival came into view, stepping up behind Arthur. "What's going on?"

"There's something I need to warn you all about before you discover it for yourselves."

"No," Gwaine whispered almost to himself as his face fell before being replaced with one of complete and utter rage. His hands balled into fists around the waterskins still clutched in them. "What did they do to him?" he growled.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to figure out a way to say this without it sounding too harsh. "Merlin wasn't very...let's just say he was being himself and wasn't very cooperative with his captors." Arthur gave a nervous chuckle but quickly sobered. "Apparently he ran his mouth quite a bit and well, the slavers didn't like that very much." He gave a frustrated sigh, not really liking the way this conversation was sounding. There was just no way around the truth. He gritted his teeth, giving up all pretenses to putting this gently. These were his knights, they could handle the news. They would handle it, they had no choice, Arthur would see to that. "They cut out his tongue."

At first there was nothing but shocked silence from all three of the knights as they processed the news. Then Gwaine broke it with an almighty roar, throwing the waterskins against the nearest tree and quickly following up with his fist. The tree didn't retaliate.

"You mean he can't—," Leon broke off with a wince, eyes locked on Arthur's as he silently pleaded with Arthur to take back what he said and reassure them all that Merlin could still speak.

But all Arthur could do was shake his head sadly.

Gwaine roared again, hands scrabbling for the sword at his waist and pulling it free of its scabbard. "I'LL KILL THEM!" He screamed.

"Gwaine keep it down!" Arthur hissed reaching over and grasping the young knight's sword arm to keep him from doing anything rash. "Don't you think this is hard enough on Merlin without him having to hear you raging about? He doesn't want your pity, he doesn't want your concern. He just wants things to go back to the way they were. To go back to Camelot. To go back home."

Arthur stole a glance at Leon and Percival, both of whom wore expressions of grief but resignation upon their faces. They understood that there was nothing that they could do as of now to retaliate. The most important thing they could do was get Merlin safely back home.

"Percival. Could you go back and watch over Merlin. Start up some broth for him. He's bound to be starving but in his state, I doubt his stomach can handle more than that."

Percival nodded and turned to go.

"And Percival," the giant of a man stopped and turned back to his king. "Be gentle with him but try not to treat him any different. He hates that." Percival sighed but managed to crack a small smile. He nodded again and strode back to camp.

"You think I'm just going to let those bastards get away with what they did to him?!" Arthur's attention turned back to Gwaine as the man continued his rage, only this time, thankfully, with his voice lowered.

"No, I sincerely hope you don't," Arthur said his face expressing the seriousness of his words. "But we can't focus on that at the moment. For now our priority needs to be getting Merlin back to Camelot safely. Then and only then, can we return to attempt to remedy that which has been wronged."

Gwaine gave another frustrated growl before calming down slightly and giving his king a nod. "I'll hold you to that."

"I expect you to." Arthur clasped the man on the shoulder in a sign of comradeship before turning and heading back into camp, Gwaine and Leon on his heels.

* * *

With the news about Merlin's disability now known amongst them, Arthur noticed that the knights, though attempting to treat the young man the same, were doing a pretty piss poor job of it. Gwaine was by far the best, still cracking jokes and telling the most absurd stories but even Arthur could tell it was forced and the young knight's almost rambling words were betraying his attempts to lighten the mood. And if Arthur noticed it, he damn well knew Merlin could.

The young man was still sitting cross-legged—although fidgeting constantly as though his energy had returned ten-fold and he just couldn't sit still—on the bedroll where he had deposited himself when they arrived, even though it was now starting to get dark. A bowl of broth Percival had made and spooned out for him sat cradled in his lap and hands, steam long since disappeared as the liquid had cooled. Merlin was just staring sadly down at the meal, desire and longing evident on his face even as he made no move to eat.

"Merlin you have to eat something," Arthur sighed getting up from across the fire and plopping himself down beside his friend. "Come on," he chuckled in an attempt to remain lighthearted. "You can't tell me you're not hungry after all these years of stealing food off my plate when I'm not looking."

He regretted the words almost as soon as he spoke them. The joke had just spewed out of his mouth without first going through his mental filter. Years of cracking such jokes and not having to worry about their implication had put his guard down. He needed to watch what he said from now on. Even little every day sayings, any that referred to the ability or inability to say, speak, or talk would have to be stricken from his vocabulary. For Merlin's sake.

Even though all the knights subtly glanced up at him, expressions ranging from silent worry, to shock, and in Gwaine's case, a murderous glare, Merlin seemed not to notice. He just shifted slightly as a small tremble traveled all through his body before settling in his hands. His face showed barely masked anxiety behind the sadness and longing.

"You must eat, mate," Gwaine said, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. "Gaius would never forgive me if I brought you back worse than how we found you."

Merlin sighed, another tremble running through his body and shook his head, setting the bowl aside, drawing his knees up as he grasped the blanket around his shoulders and drew it tighter around him. But he wasn't fast enough. Arthur had noticed the slight shaking of his hands. He really hoped it wasn't a sign of infection setting in. He had just inspected and re-wrapped Merlin's injuries not an hour earlier and everything had looked as well as to be expected.

Arthur sighed. "I know its not much but I'm afraid its all your stomach can handle right now," he stated, apologetically.

Merlin gave Arthur a put-out sidelong glance, his expression clearly saying _I know that, you clotpole. I_ live _with Gaius_ before fidgeting again and tucking his head into his knees.

Arthur glanced up and met Gwaine's eyes. The knight cocked his eyebrow, silently asking Arthur what they should do. Arthur just shrugged. He had no idea what to do about Merlin. He wanted to say the young man had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they had gotten him back but then that was now to be the norm. Really, Merlin had been unsociable, completely withdrawn and Arthur had seen him tremble every once in a while as thought re-living some memory he would much rather forget. At first he had given them smiles, forced yes, but smiles nonetheless. But now it was as if a switch had been turned and Merlin was shutting them out. All their attempts to engage him in their conversation despite his inability to add input had been ignored. He hadn't touched his food and refused any help or anything the knights offered him.

And Arthur wanted to attribute it to the young man's experience with the slavers and being exhausted, he really did. But the truth of the matter was that despite the bags under his eyes, Merlin was more anxious than it wasn't an anxiety that said he expected them all to be attacked at any moment. No. It was more of just an inability to stay still, to rest and recuperate. it was as though the young man had too much energy and his body just couldn't contain it. It had started just an hour earlier, when the young man had gotten up from his place, Arthur and the knights had jumped to their feet immediately to assist him only to be glowered at somewhat spectacularly as Merlin made his own way to the edge of camp. He came back not a minute later but refused to sit back down, instead opting to walk circles around the camp despite the fact that his injured leg must have been causing him some discomfort. Then about an hour later he had settled down again on the bedroll and remained there.

"I think its time we turn in for the night," Arthur said nonchalantly, trying to sound as though he wasn't giving an order but hinting that it was one all the same.

Gwaine caught his eye and nodded his understanding, Leon and Percival following suit.

"I'll take first watch," Leon said gathering up his sword and making his way to the edge of camp. Arthur nodded then glanced over at Merlin.

The servant had already lay himself down, his body curled up under the blanket, face and head hidden from view. For some reason, the sight caused a pang of worry to go through Arthur. The young man just looked so vulnerable curled up as though in pain or trying to make himself small. It was not a way he wished Merlin to look or feel and he wanted nothing more at that moment that to take back all that had been done to his friend and go back to the way things had been.

But all he had been able to do so far was stalk off by himself an hour after they had arrived at camp and rage at the unfairness of the world. His rage had soon died down and morphed to immense guilt that threatened to crush him with the enormity of it. He had begun to hyperventilate, unable to handle all that he felt and would have passed out or worse if a little voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like a certain black-haired servant hadn't told him to just breathe, that everything would be alright if he just stayed strong and stopped blaming himself for something that was out of his control. It was not his fault, the voice kept saying until Arthur had once again regained control of his breathing and slumped down against a tree.

It was only then that Arthur realized that was the first time he had heard Merlin's voice in over a week. Granted it was only a part of his memory and inside his head but still he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the sound of it.

Arthur once again tore himself out of his thoughts and glanced around, seeing that both Percival and Gwaine had settled down for the night and Merlin appeared to be already asleep—though Arthur couldn't see his face. Good, Arthur thought. No doubt the young man could use some sleep.

He gave a small smile toward Merlin's back. Even though the circumstances were far from desirable, Arthur was just thankful that they had managed to get Merlin back. Maybe not in one whole piece, but enough to still be thankful. He was alive and that was what mattered. They could deal with the other problems when they presented themselves, but for now, he was just happy to have his friend back.

With those thoughts, Arthur banked the fire and laid down on his bedroll, the stress and anxiety of the day taking their toll and causing him to fall asleep in seconds.

* * *

"Arthur." He was roused from sleep by a soft but insistent voice. Years of battle honed senses meant he was awake in seconds and on his feet and alert with his sword in his hand in a few more. His eyes scanned the surroundings in front of him, taking in the all but deserted campsite. Bedrolls lay abandoned beside his own, the sky still dark. But what was strange was the blazing heat coming off the roaring fire to his back. He could have sworn he banked the fire himself before lying down. Yet he could feel the intense heat and the sweat that coated his body from having been so close to the flame.

"Arthur." He whipped around at the repetition of his name, recognizing Leon's voice immediately and noting that while it wasn't his we're-under-attack voice, it was rather urgent and slightly concerned. Immediately Arthur knew the reason behind that voice.

Merlin.

The young man was where Arthur had left him, on the spare bedroll the king himself had laid out for his friend by the fire. He was sitting up, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them with us head buried in the space his limbs created. And he was not alone. Gwaine was kneeling beside him, trying to coax the servant out of his makeshift shell with soft tones and gentle touches. Percival was just beyond the two, having obviously just returned from collecting more firewood. Well that at least explained the now roaring fire.

Leon was standing beside the pair, his expression one of concern for the servant before him and slight panic that Arthur knew meant the knight was at a loss of what to do. And that in itself was enough to make Arthur worried.

Leon always kept a straight head, always seeming to understand and be able to make a decision even in the face of extreme peril. But this, this was a rarity. Leon panicking, even if only slightly, had Arthur dropping his sword in an instant and sprinting to kneel on Merlin's other side.

It was only then that Arthur could see what had them all worried. Merlin was shaking, his body wracked with violent tremors that he seemed unable to repress despite the tensing of his shoulders that hinted to Arthur he was attempting to do just that.

Arthur pulled back the hand he had unknowingly moved to lay upon his friend's shoulder. He didn't know what was wrong and didn't want to hurt the young man anymore than he already was. Instead he clasped his hands awkwardly on his folded knees, not quite knowing what to do now.

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur asked, trying in vain to keep his own worry out of his voice. And failing miserably.

"We don't know," Leon said, not even attempting to hide the concern in his voice. He huffed out a frustrated sigh but clearly wasn't going to be giving Arthur anymore information. And Arthur didn't really expect him to. When the man was frustrated he tended to clam up and only talk in short abrupt sentences. It was his way of coping with what was happening and his inability to put a stop to it.

Arthur turned to Gwaine.

The brunette was gritting his teeth in frustration, having stopped trying to coax Merlin out ever since Arthur had joined him beside the young servant. Without taking his eyes off the blank-haired servant in front of him, Gwaine somehow knew that Arthur was silently asking him the same question.

"I don't know what to do, " Gwaine admitted, his voice low and unsure, wavering slightly under the strain of indecision. He took a deep breath, collecting himself slightly before continuing. "I thought at first he was cold seeing as he is nothing but skin and bones right now and his clothing is doing absolutely nothing to help him retain any semblance of body heat. But even after I piled on an extra blanket and moved him closer to the fire the tremors still refused to recede and only seemed to get worse. It wasn't until he threw up—" Arthur immediately glanced around, noticing the mentioned pile of sick not a few feet from where he now knelt. It was worrisome to say the least. "—that I knew something was wrong but I—can't—he can't tell me—I don't know—" Gwaine broke off with a growl as he launched himself up and slammed his fist into the nearest tree.

Beside him, Merlin give a particularly violent tremble at the noise.

"Gwaine calm down. This isn't helping," Percival stated, trying to ease the young knight's frustration. But Arthur knew it too was in vain.

"Isn't helping? Isn't helping?! Nothing is helping!" Gwaine bellowed. "We finally get him back from those animals only to discover they not only beat him and starved him but also mutilated him and now this! They have done more to him than we originally thought and he's not even able to tell us what's wrong cause THEY CUT OUT HIS FUCKING TONGUE!" The knight hit the tree again, a growl of rage and pain following as the skin of his hand broke open.

By now, Merlin's trembling had become so violent it was becoming a difficult task for him to maintain his hunched and huddled position, his hands refusing to remain clasped despite his many attempts to keep them so. His body was no longer under his control, Arthur could see that. But it was when the young man grasped his head with shaking hands as though trying to physically keep it from breaking open that Arthur understood what was happening.

"Well yelling isn't going to help either, Gwaine. Look at him." He nodded to the young man besides him. Gwaine followed his line of sight, finally settling upon his friend. Immediately the fight completely drained out of him. Merlin's whole body had tensed like a bow string as the tremors continued and sweat starting to bead upon his forehead. It was clear that the loud noises of raised voices were causing the young man pain. Mostly likely a killer headache, Arthur concluded. "You're only making it worse," he stated as calmly as he could.

Throwing all caution the wind in a desperate attempt to do something, anything to try and ease the young man's obvious pain, Arthur gently placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, wanting nothing more than to still the shaking body below his fingers but knowing force would do absolutely nothing in this case.

And almost recoiled at the heat he felt there. But he kept his hand upon his friend's shoulder despite it and even moved his other hand up to his neck, searching for his pulse. It was racing and uneven. Very worrying indeed.

Instead of flinching or cringing in pain like Arthur had originally expected, Merlin gave a slight almost resigned sigh. Like it was an inevitable fate waiting for him and Arthur had just brought it to him on a silver platter.

It was only when the knight had stopped his rant and silence once again fell over the group that the soft protesting noises could be heard, mix between a groan and some half formed word. Merlin's unconscious attempt at speech had them all wincing in sympathy. He had not tried it often but sometimes it was like Merlin forgot he lacked a vital muscle required to produce words and tried to speak before remembering and looking away in shame.

All eyes were now on the huddled form of their pained friend, a range of emotions from pity to guilt to concern and, in Gwaine's case, all three filled them.

"How long has he been like this?" Arthur asked, a mask of authority now firmly in place upon his face.

"An hour at most. I first noticed him about half-way through my shift. He was buried so deeply under the blanket that if I hadn't seen the shaking, I would never had known something was wrong," Gwaine stated, his voice not calm but definitely lower.

"An hour? Why didn't you wake me at once?" Arthur's annoyance at having been the last to be notified was unsurmountable. Merlin was his friend, his _servant_. He should have been the first person Gwaine had turned to.

"He didn't want me to."

"What? Why not?" Arthur asked, shocked. He thought Merlin would have wanted his help first and foremost. They spent every waking hour together knew everything there was to know about one another so why wasn't he the first person Merlin turned to at a time like this?

"Well I don't know, now do I," Gwaine hissed angrily. "He can't bloody well tell me."

"Gwaine," Percival warned from the other side of the fire, arms crossed.

"Yes, I know, I know. Not helping," the young knight growled before starting to pace.

"What do we do, sire?" Percival asked.

Arthur wracked his brain, trying to think of what could possibly more could possibly be wrong with his friend. The first thought that came to mind was the young man's leg wound. But as he reached out to roll up Merlin's pant leg in order to inspect the wound, Gwaine's voice interrupted.

"I already checked. Its not infected."

Arthur growled in frustration, immediately apologizing to Merlin as the noise caused him to flinch. But he didn't know what to do. All signs pointed toward some sort of infection or unseen wound, but Arthur had examined Merlin twice and found no other damage. Nonetheless, Arthur strode over to where he had left Merlin's medical kit and quickly snatched it up, knocking something out of the saddlebag in the process. He meant to just ignore it, but as he glanced down to ensure it wasnt anything important, he froze.

And suddenly it all made perfect sense.

The shaking, the headaches, the vomiting, even the anxiety and restlessness earlier on in the day, it all pointed to one thing. It was why Merlin was now sweating profusely, his body fever hot even as he continued to tremble and shake.

Arthur strode back to the group, his eyes focused on the object in his hands without really seeing it.

"Arthur? What is it?," Percival, the closest to him and the first to notice Arthur's distraction, asked worriedly. Arthur immediately schooled his features, knowing that even as he did so, his knight's had most likely already seen his expression.

"He's going through withdrawals," Arthur stated matter-of-factly, trying to not let his voice betray the emotions that were now coursing through his body as he held up the small bag of dried powder that Doran had given him.

He looked up, eyes finding Merlin almost immediately and surprised to find the young man looking back at him. But it was the plea that shone out of the deep blue depths of his eyes that had Arthur hesitating, rooted to the spot with shock.

And realization hit Arthur again like a tidal wave.

The reason behind Merlin refusing to let the knights wake Arthur, the resignation in his eyes as he felt Arthur's touch. He knew that Arthur would know or at least discover the reasoning behind his current affliction. And he even knew that despite the drugs ability to make the pain of withdrawals go away, it would bring him back to a state of drugged compliance without will and without control. And he didn't want to experience that again, especially in front of the knights. Arthur could see it written clearly in his friends desperate pleading eyes.

Along with a determination so strong it scared Arthur.

No matter what relief it would bring, what suffering he would avoid, Merlin was determined to do whatever it took to never have to taste that wretched drug again.

And Arthur couldn't blame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Yeah, I know, lots of pain and angst. You might just wanna get used to it right now


	4. Chapter 4

- _Two days earlier_ -

He could feel the drug coursing through his bloodstream, putting his mind in a fog. He knew what he was doing, could feel everything see everything and hear everything, but it was as though he was watching himself go through the motions, no longer in control of his own body. And it was driving him insane.

He wanted his body back, he wanted his freedom back, he wanted to be rid of this damn drug. And for short periods of time, he was, as long as the order he was given wasn't direct the drug wouldn't affect him as much. He assumed it was his magic at work, shielding his mind as best as it could. Even sometimes his magic would react on its own, boiling in his veins as though it too was fed up with the lack of control, sending fiery pain through his veins while giving him clarity for a couple of minutes. But his magic quickly exhausted itself and retreated to the back of his mind after only a minute or two if he was lucky.

He lived for those moments, those few minutes where he could shake off the drug's hold and finally breathe. He was never able to channel the power he had been born with then but the reprieve was like cool water on a hot day.

But it was those minutes that were also the worst. Because he could clearly see and understand where he was and knew what was happening to him and the other slaves here. And knew he was powerless to stop it.

It was not a feeling he was used to. Like the Dorocha all over again. The feeling of complete powerlessness and despair as he was forced to watch and able to do nothing. He saw slaves get beat, be driven so hard they collapsed from exhaustion, and even outright killed if they proved more hassle than they were worth. He had even experienced this first hand. But it was the others' suffering he couldn't stand. And he couldn't do a thing about it.

He realized in those moments just how much he relied upon his magic to get himself and others out of sticky situations. How much he didn't even think about what he was about to do because he knew if things took a turn for the worse, he still had his magic to fall back upon.

But that was no longer the case. And Merlin kept forgetting that.

While he was unable to disobey or physically step out of line, he still fought back the only way he knew how...his mouth. While it seemed the drug repressed his freewill and his magic, it didn't seem to have much affect on his ability to talk, much to his captors' displeasure. For once Merlin got going, he could get under even the most thick skinned man.

But he noticed, he was the only one. Of the few other slaves he saw, none seemed to be able to talk at all. Nods and shakes of the head were all they were able to produce as far as communication. No doubt because the drug was doing what it was supposed to.

Which meant it wasn't for him. He assumed his magic was thwarting it the only way it could and he was thankful for it. Taking away his ability to speak and communicate was, to him, worse than losing his magic. Losing both would have caused him to lose the will to live altogether.

It was the little things he was grateful for at this point.

Even though he did believe that if he couldn't use his magic he might as well be dead, he was unwilling to give up. At least, not yet. There was still hope. He could still feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin, fighting against the drug that pumped through his system and that in itself gave him he strength to go on. If he could get rid of the drug, he could get his magic back.

Then he could burn this place to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

That thought followed him like a ghost, through the trials and tests to see how fit or worthy a slave was, through the beatings and withdrawals he received as punishment for mouthing off during said trials—he couldn't do a thing about performing them, the slavers had given direct orders he was unable to circumvent but damn it all if he was going to go through them without a fight—and during the market days when he was shackled within a small cage and shown off like a prized bull. It's what kept him from throwing up the white flag and giving up and from taking his own life the one opportunity he got. That and Arthur.

It's not like he thought the prat was coming for him. Oh no, he wasn't that naïve. It was the destiny that still sat snugly upon his shoulders, the fact that so many were relying on him to free them from tyranny that pushed him to strive to live. He had to protect Arthur and morph him into the king he knew he was destined to become. And hell, he wasn't going to give up that easily. He was made of stronger stuff, especially when there was any sliver of hope.

Which there still was despite how small it may be.

Merlin's thoughts were interrupted by a strong prod in the back as he was herded from the living quarters—if they could even be called that. The cells were no bigger than his room back in Camelot and packed with five silent drugged out slaves...it was torture in and of itself—to the cages for another market day. He stumbled slightly, manacles shifting on his raw wrists as his balance was thrown off. Before he could correct it, he had already knocked into the woman chained in front of him, sending her into the man in front of her. Soon enough all five of the slaves in chained together in their procession were sprawled on the ground.

"Get up you worthless pieces of shit!" The flat of a sword slapped Merlin on the ribs and he grit his teeth at the stinging pain it left. But he was unable to dwell on it too much as the drug forced him to his feet even as the pull of the chain connecting him to the woman in front of him threatened to yank him down once more.

Unfortunately, the woman in front of him seemed unable to stand on her own, the fall having injured her right leg further and it refused to take any of her weight. She struggled, the drug's desire to get her on her feet and her body's inability to do so left her practically flopping on the ground. Merlin could see what was about to occur seconds before it did.

"I said get up!" The slaver to Merlin's right—Sadon he believe his name was—yelled, kicking the woman in the side, causing her to shriek in pain. When that didn't produce the results the man so desired, he reached down and grasped the woman's arm violently and propelled her to her feet. But a second later she was once again upon the ground, her leg having crumpled beneath her.

"Lazy good for nothing—" Merlin could see Sadon's tactic change to one of pure cruelty. He was one of the more ruthless and cruel men of the slavers Merlin had come to know—firsthand unfortunately—and knew this was going to end with the woman's death. Right now, in Sadon's eye, she was more hassle than she was worth simply because she was unable to do as he asked. And he wasn't one to pass up the opportunity to dish out a beating until what he demanded was done. Seeing as his demands were more than what the woman could perform, she wouldn't live another day.

The man brought his foot back to kick her once more.

Merlin couldn't let that happen.

"She's worth more than you'll ever be."

The slaver paused, straightened and looked back at Merlin.

"What did you say?" He asked slowly, voice laced with venom.

"What have you got wool in your ears as well as your brain?" A sudden pain blossomed through Merlin's abdomen and he bent over as he struggled to breathe.

"You think you're so smart don't ya?" The man sneered in Merlin's face, spittle flying to land on his cheek. Merlin straightened as best he could and reached up to wipe the moisture off his face, projecting as much disgust as he could. That earned him another punch to the stomach. "You think cause you've retained such a smart mouth you are entitled to use it?"

"Well someone has to have the smarts around here and it sure as hell isn't you." This time the blow was to the head, hard and strong leaving Merlin sprawled on the ground, stars dancing before his greying vision. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like one smart comment and his mouth had a mind of its own, refusing to shut. Never had it been this bad though. One or two insults tops then he would come to his senses and shut it before his punishment could get any worse. But this time, he seemed incapable of stopping.

A kick sent Merlin tumbling over, the chains tangling around his body and growing taunt as he was propelled further from the group.

"Sadon, deal with him later," the slaver leading the procession spoke up, his tone bored and annoyed as if this sort of thing happened every day. Which with Sadon's temper and love for cruelty, Merlin mused through the pain in his body, it probably did. "We gotta get these lot to market now. Buyers will be arriving any second now."

Sadon shot a glare toward the man pausing for a second before reaching into his pocket a producing a key. "Dain, take the rest of the rats to the holding area," he spat reaching down and unlocking Merlin from the rest of the group before grabbing his upper arm in a bone-crushing grip and unceremoniously hauling him to his feet. He smirked at Merlin, his eyes glinting with malicious glee that sent a spike of fear running down Merlin's back. "This one's coming with me."

- _present_ -

Arthur would have loved to just bang his head against a tree until his sense came back to him, if it ever did. But, despite his annoyingly recent insensitivity toward his friend, Merlin really did need him walking and talking and helping rather than concussed.

Really how could he have been so damn stupid?! Forgetting the drug, yes, that was not a particularly fine moment for him even after seeing the symptoms right in front of his eyes. However, that could be excused by his panic and fear for his friend's health in the moment.

But Merlin hadn't been eating, and by the thin almost borderline emaciated state of his body, he hadn't been eating even before they got him back from the slavers. So, if Arthur's assumptions and observations were to be considered somewhat accurate, that would put Merlin at about 4 to 5 days without food. And that doesn't even count for the lack of water either. Arthur had only seen the young man drink a small sip from a water skin since they got him back, head thrown back as he literally just dribbled the water straight down his throat. And he had almost choked in the process until Gwaine had pounded him on the back and dislodged the blockage, allowing the liquid to continue on its path. But Arthur hadn't understood the reason behind the lack of sustenance, the refusal or even the strange way the man had to go about the little he took.

No, because Arthur's sense had left him, abandoned him for another that would take better care of it and actually _use_ it on a daily basis especially when a friend's life was at stake.

But Arthur hadn't thought of the use of one's tongue beyond the skill of speech. He had conveniently forgotten that the muscle helps with eating and drinking and how the lack of one would inhibit those abilities greatly. It's still entirely possible to function and retain sustenance, Arthur knew this. Otherwise the slaves he had seen in the past when traveling with his father to bordering kingdoms, they would have perished. Yet some had been that way for years, still living breathing and somehow getting those two bare necessities of life even without the muscle needed to assist them.

He knew it was possible, yet he didn't know how. And from the look of his friend, Merlin hadn't quite figured it out either. Yes, it seemed he had discovered the difficulty that came with his new disability—Arthur could only imagine how horrible that discovery must have been for him—but only figured out how to take in the smallest amount of water. And it pained him—not in the physical sense but mentally—Arthur had seen that. Merlin wanted so badly to quell the hunger pains but without knowing how to go about it without choking to death, it was like dangling the food right out his reach, allowing him to stare at it longingly but never actually touch it as he slowly starved to death.

And not to mention he was now being attacked from the inside by his own body's craving for a drug he didn't want. Merlin was the perfect picture of suffering that Arthur had ever seen. But the determination in his eyes was overwhelming even as he grit his teeth in pain so hard Arthur thought his jaw would break.

"We have to do something," Gwaine hissed at Arthur for the umpteenth time as they quickly packed up the camp. Arthur had given the order to ride out immediately after several failed attempts to persuade Merlin to ease his increasing suffering with a small dose of the drug. It was the only way that he knew of to ease the pains of withdrawal. But the stubborn servant had refused, shaking his head vigorous even though it must have aggravated what Arthur knew had to be a splitting headache. It was no use. Merlin downright refused to take the drug, even when Arthur ordered him to. Not that Merlin ever obeyed his orders anyway.

"We are." Arthur said with a frustrated sigh. "We're getting him to Gaius as fast as possible."

"He may not make it to Gaius!" The young knight faced Arthur completely, all attempts a keeping up pretenses of merely packing up the saddlebags forgotten. "We still have a day's ride until we even see a glimpse of the citadel," he practically shouted. "I have never seen an addict deteriorate so fast and trust me, I've seen plenty of the sorry lot. We can just mix it into his water," he whispered. "He'll never know and may just make it to Camelot still breathing."

Arthur rounded on Gwaine, getting right up into the man's face as he seethed with barely restrained anger . "I will not put him through the same treatment he went through with those bastards."

Gwaine took a step back a look of surprise upon his face. The young knight glanced behind him briefly. Arthur could see Merlin just over Gwaine's shoulder, the black-haired servant now practically curled into a ball as tremors violently wracked his frame. Another pile of sick slightly larger than the first—mostly just bile as he had nothing in his stomach to purge—lay not far from the huddled form. Arthur winced. The unruly knight then focused back on the king, his face once again morphing into a scowl. "He's dying Arthur."

"You think I don't know that?! I can see it Gwaine!" A quick glance at Merlin ensured Arthur that the young servant hadn't heard his shouts, too consumed in his own pain to focus on anything going on around him. He once again focused back on Gwaine and—despite his friend's lack of concentration—lowered his voice. "But it's his choice. I won't take that away from him."

They glared at each other, Arthur with determined authority, Gwaine with just pure determination, both believing they knew what was best for their suffering friend.

"Sire." Leon's voice broke the two out of their silent battle. Both heads whipped toward the curly haired knight, their glares morphing quickly into those of concern. "The horses are ready. We need to leave now." Leon was kneeling at Merlin's side, a gentle hand stroking the young servant's back as the lanky man bent over and heaved, adding more bile and spit to the pile beside him. His eyes were pinched in pain, breath coming out in harsh gasps between heaves as the trembling increased. Arthur was amazed the young man hadn't flown apart with how much he was now shaking. He needed help and soon.

Arthur's hands curled into fists, his anger at his own helplessness getting the best of him. It wasn't until he felt the lump in his right hand that the looked down. He opened his fist, displaying the small bag of the dried drug. The desire to chuck the offending bag as far as he could into the forest was almost overwhelming. But all he did was just stare at it.

He could do it, he knew he could. Just a pinch of the stuff in Merlin's water and the young servant's suffering would be eased. No more shaking, no more vomiting, and no more having to look at his pain-filled, dilated eyes.

But the drug haze would just take its place, clouding over the usually bright blue eyes. A shiver ran down Arthur's back at the memory of his cheeky disobedient servant forced to do as his king had unknowingly commanded with unnatural compliance. Arthur didn't think he would be able to handle that again. Merlin obeying any command, it wasn't right. He would do anything to avoid having to witness that again.

The small bag of the drug sat innocently in his hand.

Well, almost anything.

Arthur suddenly broke out of his musings and clamored atop his horse. "Let's go," he ordered, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Leon didn't miss a beat before carefully lifting the now breathless and exhausted Merlin up to his feet and helping him over to Arthur's mount, taking most of the servant's weight. He then gently lifted the young man up onto the saddle, Arthur guiding him until the lanky servant sat shaking in front of him before he wrapped his arms around the thin frame, grasping the reins.

Knowing his knights were going to be right behind him Arthur kicked his horse forward, setting a fast but steady speed, one that he hoped Merlin could handle. At this point though, it didn't matter. They needed to get back as fast as possible, despite what discomfort the pace may cause.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I'll make sure you get through this," Arthur whispered to his friend, fighting back the worry that aimed to escape through in his words. He thought back to the small pouch of the drug now safely tucked away in his pocket. "One way or another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well isn't this just fun as can be?


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had just started to light the sky when they began their desperate ride back to Camelot. But by the time the turrets of the white stone castle came into view, the sun was waning. As was Merlin.

During the entire ride, the young man seemed barely coherent, continuing to tremble as sweat poured off him in waves. Arthur was afraid the horses movements were causing his friend pain but every time he asked Merlin if he needed to stop, the young man would barely shake his head. Not that meant anything. Arthur knew Merlin would go to great lengths to deny or hide his pain despite others insisting otherwise. But that didn't mean it wasn't still evident.

They had stopped only a couple of times, once because Merlin had begun to heave uncontrollably and had almost fallen off the horse in the process the other time to allow a few minute rest to the suffering young man—and the knights because even though yet would never admit it, the hard ride was taking its toll on all of them. Each time Arthur ordered a dismount, he would grab a water skin and help his friend drink. He knew the amount of fluids the young man was losing with the withdrawal would result in severe dehydration if they weren't replenished. And at first Merlin refused both the water and the help Arthur provided but after a glare from his king, he eventually gave in.

But that didn't mean it was easy. Arthur could see the turmoil in Merlin's eyes, the knowledge that he needed the sustenance but didn't want to go through what it took to receive it. Arthur understood now.

Water was the most difficult for Merlin.

After experimenting on his own, Arthur realized it was near impossible to swallow the thin liquid without the use of his tongue. Yes, he had nearly choked a couple of times until he found an angle that allowed the water to slide down his throat without killing him but it was worth it to understand just what Merlin was going through. While it was still not easy and he had to basically cough the water down, it was doable with only slight discomfort. But he knew Merlin needed help, whether the young man wanted it or not. He was barely coherent as it was and would have no luck holding a water skin let alone pouring it with the violent tremors that continued to wrack his body. Arthur could tell by the look in his eyes that Merlin didn't like how weak he was, how he was nearly dependent on Arthur now that his body was betraying him.

But Arthur knew it was still not enough. But it would be enough to reach Camelot.

Arthur watched as the castle got closer and closer, each time the distance decreased helped to ensure him that everything would be alright, that they were going to make it, that Merlin would be okay.

The sound of horses hooves on cobblestones never sounded so beautiful. The party raced through the courtyard finally coming to a stop before the stairs. Gaius stood waiting alongside Gwenivere, both wearing matching expressions of relief as the party rode toward them. But as Arthur halted his horse, he saw that relief turn into fear and concern. Both eyes were trained on Merlin.

"Gwaine, can you—" Arthur began but halted mid sentence as Gwaine was already there by his side. And then, the knight cursed loudly, starling Arthur.

"How long has he been out?! Why didn't you say anything?!" Gwaine shouted, pulling Merlin down from the horse, gently but urgently. Arthur looked at the young man before him.

Merlin's eyes were closed, face no longer pinched in pain. He looked peaceful. Except that is for the ragged breathing, the rivers of sweat pouring off him, and the convulsions that shook his frame. So no, not peaceful at all, Arthur amended.

He cursed, leaping off the horse and helping Gwaine take the weight of their friend as Gaius ushered them up to his chambers.

How could he been so oblivious? Merlin had been right in front of him the entire time and he hadn't even noticed the servant was unconscious.

The two men quickly ascended the stairs, conscious of their injured charge between them, hardly even glancing at Gwen following steadily behind them. Arthur spared one second to feel guilty at not even greeting his wife upon arrival but he had more important things to worry about. And he knew Gwen understood and probably was just as worried as he was about their mutual friend.

"Lay him here. Gently. Gently!" Gaius said, motioning them toward the cot pulled up next to the fireplace. The old man was in full physician mode now, the worry still present but hidden behind a mask of professionalism.

"What's wrong with him?" Gaius asked, voice betraying only slight worry as he began examining his ward with careful but precise hands. Merlin, even though unconscious, was still shaking and sweating something fierce.

"He's going through severe withdrawals. They had been dosing him with this," Arthur stated pulling the small bag of the treacherous dried drug out of his pocket and handing it to the old physician. Gaius took the bag, turning to Gwaine as he did so and ordering him to fetch clean water and bandages, before opening it carefully. He took a small sniff then reached in and took out a pinch, running the substance through his fingers and examining the powder with a critical eye. Then, before Arthur could stop him, he tasted it.

"No! Don't!"

Gaius smacked his lips a couple of times before spitting the stuff out and turning to Arthur to give him what Merlin had dubbed 'the eyebrow'. While there were several versions of that dreaded eyebrow was a look that clearly said _I am the physician here I know what I'm doing_. Arthur sighed.

Gaius went back to examining the powder again brow now furrowed and eyes pondering. Arthur wanted to ask what Gaius was thinking, to yell and scream at him to just tell him what was wrong, to just help Merlin already as the young man was no doubt in the last leg of the withdrawals but didn't dare interrupt the man's thoughts. He was after all, Merlin's last hope. If anyone was going to save his friend from his body's own betrayal, it was Gaius.

Arthur looked up at Gwen then, finally taking notice that the woman was there next to Merlin. He caught her eye and motioned her over.

"Gwen, I know this is where you want to be right now but I—I need to—can you please go and inform the council of my return and tell them all meetings are canceled until further notice. I—I can't leave him right now…," Arthur trailed off with a look back at his ailing friend.

A hand caressed his cheek gently turning his face back toward his queen. She smiled sadly at him. "Of course," she stated softly. "He needs you. Just, don't shut me out ok? Inform me of any progress or changes, please." Her eyes bore into his, pleading silently.

"Always." He promised with a sad smile of his own taking her hand and kissing it before letting her go. She glanced back at Merlin once, eyes filling with tears before she took her leave, closing the door behind her.

Arthur looked back at the old physician now slowly breaking out of his silent contemplating

"This isn't a sedative. Then why..." Gaius said softly, glancing back to Merlin still sprawled out on the cot. He suddenly rounded the cot, hands once again checking Merlin over, just as Gwaine came storming back into the chambers with a pail of water. The young knight set the water down by the fire, hurrying to somewhere behind Arthur before returning with a cloth and roll of bandages.

"So what's the verdict, Gaius?" Gwaine asked.

Gaius retracted his hands from their probing and answered without looking up . "He is indeed going through withdrawals, and violent ones at that. But the drug is not a sedative so he should not be unconscious. Quite the opposite actually." Gaius picked up a nearby cup and began filling it with water as he continued. "Without the drug which would have dulled everything and made the victim complacent, adrenaline would have coursed through his body keeping him from being able to sleep. Hence the shaking. But the unconsciousness is not being caused by the withdrawals but by severe dehydration." Gaius looked up angrily at Arthur. "Did no one think to offer Merlin water? To make sure he was staying hydrated? Especially after all he had gone through—which by the look of the bruising on his wrists and torso and leg wound were not all that pleasant." Gaius leaned forward over Merlin with the cup of water in hand and gently grasped his ward's jaw.

Arthur's eyes went wide in alarm and Gwaine reached out a hand to stop the old man.

"Gaius wait!" they both shouted but it was too late. The old physician had opened Merlin's mouth already. He gasped reeling back in shock as though he had been hit and promptly dropping the cup of water which hit the edge of the cot and splashed across the floor. Gwaine winced, and looked down in shame for his friend before busying himself with the fallen cup.

The professional physician mode had disappeared, leaving behind a heart broken and agonized old man. "Oh my poor boy" he whispered, reaching out and stroking the black fringe plastered to Merlin's forehead.

"We tried Gaius, really we did. We just couldn't get him to drink much," Arthur admitted softly, eyes downcast. He was so ashamed so guilt ridden that not only was it his fault that Merlin had ended up in this predicament in the first place, but that it was also his fault that his friend had gotten worse after they got him back.

"None of us knew how without him choking which he very nearly did the few times we managed to get water into him," Gwaine continued to explain, his voice soft and ashamed. "And then it was only a trickle at best."

It was silent for another minute as Gaius reached for the full cup Gwaine was now offering to him silently. He tipped a small amount of the liquid into Merlin's mouth, gently massaging the young man's throat while tipping his head with practiced ease to allow the water to go down smoothly.

"Where did you find him?" Gaius asked suddenly, voice sounding rough as he continued to give Merlin small amounts of water.

"A black market set up in and around the abandoned castle of Gutrel. They were—,"Arthur broke off rubbing his right hand across the nape of his neck as he tried to quell the anger slowly building at the thought of that place and what he had been forced to do there. "I had to purchase him, Gaius. Like an animal. Like an object," he finished, gritting his teeth.

Gaius was silent again, his eyes saddened and concerned. Arthur couldn't imagine the pain the old man must be feeling. The boy he had taken care of and loved like a son had gone through unimaginable horrors and come back not entirely whole. The realization was probably eating the old man up inside. It was a miracle he hadn't had a heart attack at the discovery of Merlin's mutilation.

"Thank you, sire." The words were little more than a whisper but Arthur heard them loud and clear. He didn't deserve Gaius' thanks. He didn't deserve any of it. He had done it to save his friend, to right a wrong that he hadn't meant to make. To do what was right.

Gaius stood up then, slowly but deliberately, the mask of the physician falling hesitantly but firmly back into place. "Now I need some space to work so I would appreciate it if you two would take your leave." Gwaine opened his mouth to protest but Gaius held up a hand. "If I need any help I'll make sure to let you know. Along with any changes that come about or discoveries I make."

Arthur nodded, not really trusting himself to speak right now in case the anger and resentment he felt toward himself burst out and he demanded he be allowed to stay. Gaius needed to be alone. He needed to work and help Merlin. Something Arthur couldn't do right now.

Arthur looked at Gwaine, jerking his head toward the door in a clear demand for the man to follow him. Gwine let out a huff before looking back at Gaius.

"I'll be right outside if you need anything Gaius," he said before striding out the door. Arthur followed without glancing back.

Merlin would be alright, he had to believe that. He just had to.

* * *

The door to the physician's chambers opened with a creak, breaking Arthur out of his staring contest with the wall.

He had gone to see Gwen directly after leaving Gaius', informing her of all that had happened. To say she had taken the news well would have been a lie. Arthur had held her as she cried for the young man they both called a friend until she had fallen asleep. Then, with a kiss upon her brow, he left to go join Gwaine in his vigil outside the physician's chambers.

Now, as Gaius opened the door finally after hours of shutting himself in there, Arthur couldn't help but feel guilty again, but for entirely different reason. Less than a minute ago he had sent Gwaine off to fetch more water in case needed more. Gwaine had frowned disapprovingly, protesting that Gaius could come out with news at any minute and that he needed to be here but one look at Arthur and he stood with a nod and walked off muttering angrily to himself.

Arthur sighed. Gwaine was not going to be happy that he had missed this. Arthur would never hear the end of it.

"How is he? Can you help him?" Arthur asked, pushing his guilt aside and standing up quickly to face the old physician now standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. He couldn't help the desperation that leaked through in his voice. He couldn't lose Merlin, not after just getting him back. Those days he had been searching frantically for his missing friend his mind had come up so many horrible outcomes and possibilities to what was and could have already happened to Merlin. By the time half a week had passed Arthur's thoughts had turned ever darker until he started to believe they would never get Merlin back, that he was dead already or in some far off kingdom where he would forever dwell in suffering until the mercy of death finally took him. "Gaius, tell me he'll be alright."

Gaius paused, before looking into Arthur's eyes, a mask of indifference slipping over the pain and concern that had never left since they had stormed in with Merlin not a few hours ago. "He'll be alright, sire."

Arthur was taken aback. That was not the answer he had expected. He stared at Gaius a second longer before finding the flaw—the man's eyes were weighted by sadness even as his face betrayed none. "Don't lie to me Gaius," Arthur growled.

"Well, what do you want to hear?" The physician snapped, causing Arthur to take a step back in shock. "The truth or a lie?" Gaius was always so composed even when faced with unlikely pressure. But now...

"Truth, of course," Arthur stated though not knowing if he actually wanted to hear it.

Gaius sighed closing the door to his chambers before he seemed to age ten years as he physically deflated. It was then that his true feelings displayed themselves on his face—fear, concern, desperation, and pain all warring for dominance. Arthur's heart clenched at the sight knowing whatever the old physician had to say, it wasn't going to be good. "He's awake now but his body is shutting down. Without the drug, he won't survive the night. But he refuses to take it."

"So that's it? He's just giving up?" Arthur couldn't believe this. Merlin had never, for as long as Arthur had know him, given up. Even when all seemed bleak and lost, he had been the one to keep everyone going, to keep moral and hope alive.

"Sire, he's not given up," Gaius stated calmly. The old physician glanced back at the door to his chambers with a sad look. "I think he just believes he will survive the withdrawals."

"But he won't, will he?"

"No, he will not." Gaius said matter of factly voice, laced with sadness. "Without the drug, he will not survive."

"So its either die or be drugged up for the rest of his life?" This couldn't be happening. The thought of Merlin having to live a half-life, a drugged life along with his new disability was almost too much to handle. Despite his newfound determination that he would do whatever it took to keep Merlin alive, that kind of life was not what he had in mind. It would be a mercy to end it.

"No, no sire!" Gaius said quickly, eyes wide as he tried to placate the king. "We can slowly wean him off the drug once he's back on it, give him half doses until his body can function without it. It'll be...unpleasant still, yes, but nothing like what he is going through now. A constant headache, a slight shake in his hands but thats it. Only a small fraction of what he's experiencing at this moment."

Relief filled Arthur before suddenly the realization of what Gaius had just said hit him. Merlin needed the drug, just like he had thought, but they were never going to get him to take it, not willingly of course.

That only left one thing. And Merlin wouldn't like it. Not one bit.

"But he'll live? He'll live a normal life—well as normal as he can….now" Arthur asked.

"Yes he will. But he still won't take the drug." Gaius said, the sadness still present in his eyes.

This was the moment. The moment Arthur chose between selfishness and respect. He needed Merlin, wanted Merlin by his side as he carved his way through history. None of what he had accomplished could have been done without the young man, Arthur knew that now. He had changed him into the man he was now, molding him into a proper king. On the other hand, he also knew he should respect Merlin's desire to let the withdrawals run their course and just hope for the best, knowing the worst. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. During the time he had sat in vigil outside the physicians chambers, he had been thinking, debating what the best course of action would be if worse comes to worse. And now it seemed it had.

Well he had made his decision.

Arthur looked into Gaius' eyes, knowing that the determination in him was clearly displayed on his face as he spoke.

"Then we'll just have to make him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me?


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh really?" drawled a sarcastic voice laced with disbelief coming up the stairs behind Arthur. The king sighed. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. Gwaine strolled up next to Arthur, setting the bucket of water he had been ordered to fetch down. The young knight gave Arthur a suspicious look. "What happened to the whole 'it's his choice and I won't take that away from him'."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Arthur said with conviction. Well, as much conviction as he could muster at the moment. Which probably wasn't much seeing as he had only recently convinced himself that he was doing the right thing. The selfish thing, but the right one. For all involved.

"He won't like it," Gwaine's tone had gone soft, no doubt contemplating the results this action would create.

Arthur sighed. "I know. That's why I'll be the one to do it."

"Sire, I can do it myself. It's alright, I am the physician. Its expected," Gaius offered. But Arthur could see the masked despair in the old physician's eyes. He didn't want to do it, didn't want to see the hate in Merlin's eyes as he became no better than the slavers that had done this to him.

"No, Gaius. He needs you more than any of us. We can't have his trust in you broken," Arthur looked at both men before him, mustering all the authority he could. "I'll do it. I deserve it after all. It's only fair."

"Nobody blames you Arthur," Gwaine assured him. "Especially Merlin."

"Well, he should," Arthur mumbled to himself. He hadn't been there, hadn't ensured that at least _someone_ had been there with Merlin. He had just dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand, assuming that a simple trip to the forest was not a dangerous task, even as the recent reports from his patrols told him otherwise. It was Arthur's dismissive gesture that had sealed the young man's fate. No better than if he had been the one that had wielded the instrument that had cut out his friend's tongue.

Gwaine just continued on as though he hadn't heard a word that Arthur had said. "You don't need to put yourself through this. If anyone deserves his hate, it's me," Gwaine said looking down at his hands. "I let him down," he finished, voice soft and filled with guilt.

Arthur knew exactly what the knight was referring to. Gwaine had volunteered to accompany Merlin that day out on his herb gathering, the day he went missing. But the night before the drunken knight had been downing the cups, getting so drunk he had barely made it back to his room before passing out. And not waking until well after him and Merlin were scheduled to leave. Merlin had gone out on his own.

And from his window Arthur had seen him go, bag slung around his shoulders, breath turning into fog as it connected with the chilled early morning air, knowing that someone was meant to accompany him, someone was meant to ensure that Merlin didn't end up becoming nothing more than a scrawl of words upon another death report gathering dust in the archives. Instead he had done nothing.

"No. It was a mistake, that's all," Arthur said, trying to convince Gwaine as well as himself. One look at Gwaine's face and he knew it wasn't working on either fronts. Alright then, another tactic then. "Besides, he needs you now more than ever. To help make things as normal as they used to be."

Gwaine chuckled with a sad sort of humor. "I think you're doing that better than anyone."

"Yeah because he's doing so well right now thanks to my amazing ministrations," Arthur laughed dryly.

"That's not—," Gwaine began but Arthur held up his hand and the knight immediately silenced at the look his king shot him.

"This is not up for discussion, Gwaine." He was doing this, no one else. They needed to understand that and know that this was the only way. The only logical way. The only practical way.

He turned to Gaius, whole body thrumming with determination and anticipation. "How should the drug be administered?"

Gaius paused, seemingly in thought as he stared back at the door to his chambers. When he looked back at Arthur, he was once again in full physician mode. "Water is too hard for him at this moment and will probably be for the rest of his life. So I recommend a fruit paste, something with moderate viscosity that he can swallow easily but isn't too thin that it needs to be guided too much in the mouth."

Arthur nodded, not liking what he was hearing but knowing it was true. He had seen it himself.

"And you'll want to have him sitting up so he won't choke. And right here," Gaius reached under Arthur's chin and touched his throat right under his tongue pressing gently, "is a free standing bone that when pressed gently like this," he took Arthur's fingers and had him mimic his own under Arthur's chin, "gives what's left of his tongue something to push against. It will help him swallow easier."

Arthur didn't trust himself to answer so overwhelmed with the knowledge of what Merlin would have to go through every day, so he just nodded again. This was how Merlin was going to have to eat, to drink, to live from now on. It tore Arthur's heart once more, knowing that he could have prevented this, could have saved his friend from this fate. It was all his fault, and he would never let himself forget that.

Those thoughts just hardened Arthur's resolve even more. He would make sure Merlin survived and lived a full and happy life.

Arthur shook himself mentally before turning to address his knight. "Gwaine fetch some fruit from the kitchen and-"

"Sire I"ll retrieve the fruit," Gaius interrupted. Arthur was about to argue but Gaius quickly continued. "It can only be certain types and ripe enough to be ground to a paste but not too soft that it's rotten. It's best if I go."

Arthur nodded again. "Please hurry. I don't want him to suffer much longer." He sighed—something he seemed to be doing too much as of late—and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck in agitation. "The sooner I do this, the sooner it's all over."

Gaius inclined his head and turned, shuffling down the hall as fast as his old bones would carry him.

"Gwaine, go with him." The knight looked back at Arthur, mouth opened to protest for what seemed to be the hundredth time today, but Arthur continued on. "Please, Gwaine."

The knight stared at Arthur, for once not with anger or frustration or defiance, but with understanding. They both blamed themselves for what happened to Merlin, both wanted to do whatever it took to ease the young man's suffering, ensure he survived, and return things back to the way they once were. They may not agree sometimes—most of the time—on the best ways to go about doing those things, but they now understood one another better than before. Understood and accepted.

Oh, if Merlin only knew the effect he had on those around him, Arthur would never hear the end of it.

Well, except now he would never hear it. Ever.

Arthur shoved those thoughts violently from his mind, knowing even as he did it, that they would make their way back unhindered in no time at all. Once he was alone with his thoughts.

Like now, Arthur mused as he watched Gwaine's figure disappear down the corridor. But no. He had a friend to watch over and keep company. A friend to nurse back to health, no matter the cost.

Arthur opened the door to the physician's chambers, plastering his usual mask of annoyance he reserved only for his servant upon his face.

Merlin was where they had left him, in the cot by the fire. This time, though, the young man was awake, eyes barely open but a clearer blue than Arthur had seen since he had rescued him—bought him, he had bought his friend and he couldn't ever forget that, didn't want to forget that until the bastards that forced his hand were cut down. He was still shaking, sweating, still suffering at the hands of the withdrawal but the symptoms were not quite as violent as it had been before. Arthur wanted to believe that was a good thing, but his gut told him it wasn't. Merlin's body was completely shutting down, energy having been depleted and unable to hold out much longer. The pallor of his skin told Arthur that much. His friend didn't have much time left.

"Really Merlin, all this lazing about has got to stop. My chambers are a mess, my armor needs polishing and my breakfast isn't going to fetch itself." If normal is what Merlin wanted well then, he could try at normal. And if it just so happened to distract Merlin from what was happening to him and around him, well all the better then.

And it seemed to work as Merlin gave a tired smile—a real smile that barely reached his eyes but reached them nonetheless—mouth forming the unmistakable word _prat_. Only then did Arthur find himself cracking his demeanor with a genuine smile of his own. It was his first real smile in days, a week even. Merlin's disappearance had not been easy for him.

He continued to banter with his friend—one sided of course, though through the young man's expressions, he could mainly guess at what Merlin would have said in response—losing track of recent events and just getting lost in the normalcy of things. That is until Gaius and Gwaine returned, the knight's arms ladened with various fruits including strawberries, raspberries, apples, plums, and even some pears. Gwaine set the food down on the table, trying to keep most of it from rolling away as Gaius took out a mortar and pestle.

Arthur looked at Gwaine, gaze fixed until he silently was able to grab the knight's attention before shifting his eyes toward the door and back in a clear order for the man to make himself scarce. To his surprise, the knight didn't even try to protest. Miracles really do happen it seems.

"I'll just go fetch some more then, shall I?" Gwaine said, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he retreated from the room. Arthur rolled his eyes. No doubt the young knight was going to go take full advantage of the deserted kitchen and all its edible glory.

"Gaius, I can handle this," Arthur said turning his full attention to the physician as the old man began grinding up several strawberries. "You go care for that woman in the lower town."

"Sire I don't—" Arthur gave Gaius a pointed look, hoping the old man caught on. To his relief, he did after several beats. He set down the mortar and pestle and stood up. "Oh, right. Yes, thank you sire. Its not far and shouldn't take but a moment."

Arthur understood his meaning _I'll be right outside in case anything goes wrong_ and nodded in thanks and understanding. He glanced over at the table, ensuring that the small bag of the drug was still where Gaius had left it before picking up where Gaius had left off and grinding the strawberries to a nice consistency. He looked up at Merlin, seeing if the young man was paying any attention. Slitted blue eyes met his. Arthur cursed to himself. Back to the distractions then.

"How does it feel Merlin, knowing you are going to be the one who gets to be served by royalty? It is an honor, I'm sure?" Merlin made an attempt to roll his eyes, but the movement seemed to aggravate his headache and he pinched his eyes shut. Perfect opportunity.

Arthur quickly turned around so his back was to Merlin and provided the perfect shield from his true actions. He opened the bag and took out a pinch of the powder—ensuring that it was the amount that Darin had instructed him—and hesitated for just a heartbeat before dropping it into the paste. He breathed out a weighted breath. This was happening, he was really going to do this.

Arthur continued to grind the strawberries, breaking up any lumps and large pieces that Merlin might choke on before dumping the paste into a cup. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. Before he could change his mind, he turned around and sat down on the stool by Merlin's cot.

"Come on Merlin, its time to get your lazy arse up." Arthur set the cup down before gently and carefully maneuvering Merlin into a sitting position as best he could with pillows propping his torso up against the wall by the headboard. He grabbed the cup in his left hand, displaying the contents for Merlin to see. "Strawberry mash. Food fit for a king, I assure you," Arthur stated with a smirk, trying not to let his voice betray him as he attempted to keep up pretenses.

Merlin eyes the strawberry slush through lidded eyes warily but with longing.

Arthur turned serious for a moment. "Its ok, Merlin. Gaius taught me a thing or two that will help make this easier, I promise. Just, trust me." The words almost stuck in Arthur's throat, but he pushed them out, knowing Merlin needed to hear them.

Merlin looked at Arthur, eyes full of such trust and faith that the king was taken aback slightly. It was immense and so pure that Arthur was sure Merlin alone could inspire him to raise a mountain or carve out a sea. It alone almost changed his mind.

But then he remembered why he was doing this. So that he may get the chance to be inspired by that trust and faith, to raise mountains and carve seas, to have Merlin stand by him and help him create the greatest kingdom the world has ever known. But the young man had to live in order for that to happen.

Merlin didn't even flinch as Arthur placed his fingers under his chin, right where Gaius had instructed him to and pressed gently as he carefully tipped the strawberry mush into his friend's open mouth.

And with a few tries, Merlin was able to swallow.

Arthur let go of a breath he hadn't realized he held, setting the cup down before looking back up at Merlin.

The young man's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, as though unsure if something was wrong or not. A few moments passed, Arthur waiting with baited breath for the drug to kick in and the withdrawal to begin to make its retreat.

Merlin's eyes suddenly widened, flitting about before settling accusingly upon Arthur's face. And the king's heart almost ripped out of his chest at what he saw there. Horror, anger, betrayal all warring for dominance in a split second. Then just as suddenly as the emotions had come, they dulled, glassy blue eyes and an emotionless expression as the drug took effect. A look Arthur had never wanted to see again upon his friend's face but was now forced to be the reason behind it.

And the aftermath was going to be painful.

Just in those few seconds of Merlin's understanding, with that one look, Arthur knew that he had broken something that he may never be able to repair. The trust and faith that had been so pure, so infinite were shattered. The betrayal reigned, squandering all in its path, leaving behind broken remains of friendship and loyalty that no amount of apologies would ever repair.

And it just added to the guilt Arthur already felt. The pain, the self loathing only swelling with the knowledge of what he had just lost, what his actions had just caused him to lose. Again.

Arthur looked up at his friend—former friend apparently now. Merlin was now half sprawled on the cot, the pillows like a nest around his head and torso, but his body was still his breathing calm and steady, the withdrawal already receding as his body received the one thing it needed most. He would be alright then. Arthur sighed in relief.

But it was his eyes, the vacant, almost dazed look about them that really hit Arthur hard again. It was like Merlin wasn't even there, like his friend was gone, pushed aside by a drug that he didn't want. He knew that Merlin would be back soon—it took the drug a few minutes to settle down, to assert its dominance before it allowed the victim to function—but didn't know if he could handle the moment Merlin 'woke up'. He wasn't ready to face those looks again.

Merlin would never forgive him.

Arthur sighed. It didn't matter. Merlin would live, that's all he cared about. The hate, betrayal, and distrust he saw in Merlin's eyes would hurt yes, but it would also mean the young man was alive. Arthur didn't know what he would do without Merlin. He wasn't too keen on finding out either.

Just as that thought came about Merlin's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went still.

Arthur jumped to his feet, knocking over the stool in the process. That hadn't happened before. What—?

It was then that Merlin began violently convulsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come. Stay tuned


	7. Chapter 7

- _past_ -

_He smirked at Merlin, his eyes glinting with malicious glee that sent a spike of fear running down Merlin's back. "This one's coming with me."_

Merlin struggled as Sadon dragged him across the dilapidated courtyard toward, not the dank dirty cells that had become his home for the last week or so, but in the opposite direction. Toward an opening in the crumbling wall leading...well Merlin didn't actually know where. But it couldn't be good, whatever it was.

He struggled harder, knowing it was no use but not willing to give up without some semblance of a fight. It made him feel better, even though he knew with a single command he would once again become obedient. He wondered why the sadist hadn't done it already.

As if reading his thoughts, Sadon looked down at Merlin as he pulled him along, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "By all means, keep it up. I do love it when you try and fight me." He let off a laugh that sent a shiver of ice down Merlin's back. It startled him so much, he ceased his struggles momentarily.

"Where are you taking me?" he grit out once he had gotten over his shock, trying desperately to not let his fear show in his voice.

Another smirk was shot his way as they reached the doorway. "Oh, come now. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." And before Merlin knew what was happening, he was thrown slightly off balance as Sadon descended down below the crumbling castle, dragging Merlin along with him.

It wasn't until they reached the end of the winding stairs that Merlin was finally able to regain his balance and take in his surroundings. Before them stretched a hallway, the length of which he couldn't fathom for only a single torch by the entrance gave him a few paces of light in any direction. It was a long hallway, if the echo of their footsteps was anything to go by, but the darkness swallowed up most of it.

Sadon grabbed the torch from the wall before once again dragging Merlin none too gently after him. A smell tickled at Merlin's nose as they proceeded further into the bowels of the castle. It was a strange mixture of mold and mildew along with a familiar but more muted scent he couldn't quite place. It gave him an uneasy feeling whatever it was and was getting stronger the further they went.

"I think I'll pass. I'm not too fond of surprises," Merlin quipped, not really sure what his intention was but talking seemed to slightly calm his frantically beating heart, if only a little.

"That's it boy, keep talking while you still can," Sadon muttered, turning sharply into an open room Merlin hadn't even seen. The door was gone, having detached itself long ago from the doorway to lie rotting on the floor. Merlin, caught by surprise by the slaver's words, gracelessly tripped over one of the crumbling planks as he was dragged roughly in, sending him sprawling across the floor.

It was then, once he was in the room, that the same familiar scent assaulted Merlin's senses, almost overwhelming and finally, he was able to recognize it. And immediately wished he hadn't.

Decay. Decaying meat to be exact.

Before he could spare another thought on the realization, he was hauled roughly to his feet and slammed down upon a wooden table in the middle of the room. He struggled valiantly, truly he did. But it was no use. In less than a minute Sadon had his wrists and ankles strapped down upon the hard wooden surface, immobile and completely vulnerable.

Merlin's magic surged and quaked beneath his skin wanting nothing more than to come to his aid. But all it was able to do was break the drug's hold on his will. Not that that did much. The slaver hadn't ordered him to do anything yet. But the surge of magic gave him hope and he held his breath, body going taunt as he tried in vain to push it through and out, to obey his command. His magic, though, would go no further.

He let out a growl of frustration before sinking back onto the table once more. His breath came out in pants and he felt slightly drained and dizzy from the strain. But he pushed that aside and surveyed the room before him.

Instruments, of all different shapes and sizes, hung from the walls. Some were old and rusted through with age while others looked practically new. None, however, looked particularly friendly, not in the slightest. Chains, manacles, pliers, knives big and small, whips, along with various other instruments all hung menacingly from the wall and on table tops lining the edges of the room. It was a dungeon master's dream. Some instruments were more complicated, leaving Merlin unable to even begin to guess at their uses, and he really didn't want to, while others were all too obvious and he felt bile rising up in his throat at the realization.

A torture chamber.

All in all, this was the _last_ place he wanted to find himself. Especially at the mercy of Sadon.

Said man was now walking around Merlin's prone form, smirking down at him and running his hand along his immobile body. Shivers ran down Merlin's spine and every touch left goosebumps in their wake. But he refused to give in to the man, to let the slaver see the fear his 'surprise' had instilled in him.

So with that thought, Merlin mustered up all the hate and anger he felt and glared up at the man.

Sadon stopped circling him, letting his arms go wide in a showing gesture as a wide cruel grin spread across his face. "Surprise. Isn't it beautiful? I told you it was worth the wait."

Merlin's mouth opened before he could even think to stop himself. "Ha. You think this is impressive? You should see the chamber they have in Camelot. Makes your collection look like a child's toys."

"Have you sampled those too? I bet that's how you got that burn on your chest." Sadon hadn't lost the cruel amusement that marred his face one bit, eyes now glinting evermore in the torchlight. "My compliments to the deliverer."

Shock left Merlin breathless. How did he know he had a burn on his chest? He didn't remember ever having to bare any part of his body for these people and yet, somehow this man knew. Granted there were a few hours between being knocked out and finding himself in his cell here that remained unaccounted for but had they really examined him? And how uh...thoroughly? It was...disturbing to think of what had occurred during that time that he didn't know about. Merlin couldn't stop the shiver that ran through his whole body at the thought.

"No," he retorted, voice hesitant at first as the shock slowly faded, then gathering strength as he continued. "I got that when I killed a high priestess of the Old Religion. She was weak and a coward, much like yourself."

Really he didn't know where all this was coming from, even surprising himself with the truths he was telling this man. But he couldn't stop the words and at this moment, he didn't really want to anyway. It gave him comfort, however slight it may be, to have some way to attack his captor when he was unable to escape the horror in stock for him. And he wasn't going down without a fight.

The slaver strolled leisurely over to the wall, running his hand across several instruments. He took his time picking his tool, trying to draw out the inevitable, knowing full well it kept Merlin waiting in agonizingly cruel suspense.

Finally, he selected a knife like tool from the wall and strolled back over to Merlin. But upon closer look, Merlin realized the instruments was actually made up of dual knives, sharp edges facing toward one another with the handles protruding from them to form a kind of X when open. Sadon saw Merlin eying the tool and viciously snapped it closed, showing him the exact way the tool was used. Not something he wanted to know. He jumped at the sudden movement, the sharp piercing sound causing a tremor to radiate through his body as fear finally won out.

This wasn't happening. He wasn't here. Merlin could feel as the fear took over his entire body, his limbs shaking slightly and breaths coming out in short pants. All attempts to squash it back down were hardly even attempts at all in comparison as the fear just washed them over, smothering them.

"Ah, but I'm not the weak one here, you are," Sadon said, clicking the instrument once more causing Merlin to jump, before looking down at at him. "Much like you precious king."

"Arthur is a hundred times the man you will ever be." Merlin growled. The slaver just shrugged and leaned over Merlin's body, reaching for his head.

It was as Sadon grasped his jaw in his rough cruel hands that Merlin suddenly knew what the tool was for. And the comments the man had uttered before finally made perfect sense. Fear exploded out of him like fire, consuming his every thought except the desperate need to free himself, to get out of this room, to get away, to be anywhere but here. He struggled hard, thrashing this way and that, trying in vain to dislodge the man now above him, while keeping his mouth firmly closed. But it was no use.

He could do nothing but watch as Sadon pitched his nose shut and waited patiently above him with the tool ready. Merlin hoped prayed pleaded with any deity, really any greater power who would listen that just this once, to allow him to live without having to breathe, without having to open his mouth, without having to submit to the pain and mutilation he was about to experience. But if anyone heard him, his cries were ignored.

The pain in his chest was growing too great, but Merlin decided he would rather pass out than to witness the next moment of his enslavement. Sadon, on the other hand, had other ideas.

"You are not allowed to let yourself pass out, boy. I want you awake for this, to remember this for the rest of your life. Never to forget my face nor the pain I caused you," Sadon hissed in Merlin's ear, sending more shivers down his spine.

Before Merlin knew what was happening, his mouth opened of its own accord, his magic having exhausted itself with its earlier attempt, leaving him at the mercy of the drugs effects once more. He took in a great lungful of air.

Quick as a flash of lightning, the slaver reached in, grasped his tongue and snapped the tool over the offending muscle.

Merlin's screams echoed down the hallway and through the castle, morphing into choked gurgles before silence fell like a blanket over both his unconscious mind and the bowels of the castle.

- _present_ -

"GAIUS!" Arthur screamed—no, not screamed, Kings don't scream no never scream not even when their friend is dying before their eyes; bellowed with urgency and dignity yes, of course, oh hell no he screamed like his life depended on it as well, it probably did—hands frantically trying to hold Merlin down and ensure the young man didn't hurt himself as his body jerked about.

The door to the chambers burst open with surprising strength as Gaius barreled through, hair flying and face etched with worry as he took in the scene. The next second he was beside Arthur, having moved faster than the king thought possible for a man his age. But then again, it was Merlin's life at stake here.

Gaius paused beside Arthur, seeming at a loss of what to do before putting his hands on either side of the young man's head and just holding him still. Arthur looked up at Gaius, the frantic question burning through his mind as it tried to make its way to the surface, but it seemed Gaius understood.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do until the fit recedes," Gaius stated, answering Arthur's silent question without even looking up from Merlin's convulsing form. Arthur grit his teeth not liking the situation one bit and yet not knowing a better solution. He was no physician. Gaius was.

"What happened, sire?" The words poured out of Gaius' mouth, laced with concern and an underlying frantic quality.

"I—I don't know. I gave him the dosed strawberries just like you showed me and everything was," Arthur paused and swallowed the guilt he felt rising up, but it did nothing to stop the overwhelming rising panic as he continued, "as normal as before. The symptoms had even ceased. But then his eyes just rolled to the back of his head and...and he started having a fit! I didn't—I never—" It was then that the convulsions ceased and Merlin's body became unnaturally still. Arthur's breath hitched. "Oh lords, is he—did I kill him?!"

Gaius quickly let go of his ward's head and reached out, grasping one of Merlin's too thin wrists in his hand and feeling his pulse. After several beats, the physician sighed in relief and shook his head. Merlin was still alive. Arthur let out a shaky breath, running a hand down his face. It came away wet, tears having gathered in his eyes unbeknownst to him. But he didn't care. That had been one of the worst moments of his life. Despite what he had told Merlin all those years before, the young man was worth Arthur's tears. Not that he would ever admit that to his friend.

The physician continued examining Merlin. He lay his head upon Merlin's chest, listening for a few seconds before leaning over and lifting an eyelid. Arthur could barely see his friend's pupils, almost pinpoints and nonresponsive as Gaius moved a finger back and forth and side to side in front. Whatever was happening, it was not good.

"His heart rate is exceptionally slow as is his breathing and his pupils have reduced exceedingly," Gaius muttered to himself but loud enough for Arthur to hear. "Its almost as if…," Gaius trailed off, eyes roaming over Merlin's still form, deep in thought. He reached over and lifted Merlin's hand again examining the fingers before setting it down again and looking back at the young man's face. Arthur followed Gaius' eyes, trying to see what the physician was seeing, or not seeing. He wasn't having much luck.

"Arthur, see if you can wake him," Gaius said, voice detached and distracted, but still etched with the worry and distress that Arthur too was feeling.

The king moved to comply, grasping both of Merlin's shoulders and shaking him gently. "Merlin? Wake up." He got no response, not even a twitch. "Come on you lazy idiot, wake up." Merlin's head lolled to the side. Arthur shook him a little harder. "This is not the time to play games." Still no response. "I'm sorry ok, I'm sorry I drugged you. This isn't funny anymore. Just please—" Arthur's voice broke, "—wake up." Merlin's head flopped back and forth. Arthur's anger rushed back to the surface, over taking his momentary despair and he shook his friend vigorously. "MERLIN! I ORDER YOU TO WAKE!"

It was at that moment that Merlin's torso gave a sudden jerk. Arthur watched in horror as his friend's throat worked, gurgling and choking as vomit forced its way through. His body heaved, trying in vain to dispel the offending substance now blocking its airway.

"Quick, flip him on his side," Gaius ordered, propriety and station completely forgotten. Arthur immediately shook himself out of his shock and scrambled to obey, grasping Merlin's shoulders and turning him on his side.

Gaius didn't wait a second before forcing Merlin's jaw open further and ramming his fingers in through the mess collected there and down his throat. Merlin gagged a few times before Gaius quickly withdrew his fingers and the young man's unconscious body replied instinctively, giving an almighty heave. A mixture of strawberries and bile spewed out, splattering the floor. But neither Gaius nor Arthur paid it little mind, focused as they were solely on the ailing young man before them.

When finally it seemed Merlin's body had calmed down, Arthur set him back gently on his back, arranging the pillow in a more comfortable position. When he could distract himself no more, he turned to Gaius, asking the question he was dreading to hear the answer to. He didn't know how much more guilt he could handle.

"What—what's wrong with him Gaius?"

The physician was silent for a moment, checking over his ward once more. While his movements were calm, less frantic than before, there was still a sense of worry about them. Arthur knew it didn't bode well. And when Gaius finally stopped, letting out a heavy sigh as he straightened and looked up to meet Arthur's eyes, he didn't like the worry that remained there masked by the physician facade.

"He was overdosed, sire," Gaius stated as matter-of-factly as possible.

Arthur froze, shocked as his mind frantically went over his actions of the last hour trying to see if that was indeed true. "No, that's impossible. I gave him the directed amount, the amount the slaver instructed. I made sure of it," he insisted, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gaius sighed again, rubbing a hand across his face, looking bone weary and worried. "His body is unable to handle the same amount, sire. Not after the withdrawal. It greatly reduced his tolerance to the drug so giving him the same amount he used to be given was more than his body could handle." Gaius paused looking back at Merlin's now sleeping form, watching the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest. "When I said only half doses, I meant starting right away. He needs to be weaned off the drug immediately. Even a half dose in his condition would have been pushing it. But a full dose…"

"It nearly killed him," Arthur finished. Gaius nodded.

"Any longer and the damage would have been irreversible." The old physician walked over to one of the cabinets, producing a wooden spoon before shuffling back over to Merlin's cot and bending down by the pile of sick. He sifted through the mess with the spoon, examining the contents with a keen eye. "Luckily, I think we managed to force him to dispel quite a bit of the drug before it could completely overwhelm his system," he explained.

"So, he'll be alright?" Arthur asked, hope bubbling to the surface before he could quell it.

Gaius stood up, facing Arthur once more before letting a small smile wash over his features. "Yes, he'll be alright."

Relief washed over Arthur so strong his legs gave out and he sat heavily on the floor. Merlin would live, Merlin would be ok. Granted they still needed to wean him off the drug but at least the first part was over. The rest would be easy compared to this.

But that had been twice now, twice that something Arthur had done in the last two days had almost cost Merlin his life. First with the dehydration and now with the overdose, Arthur was about ready to lock himself in his room in order to never harm Merlin again. How could he have been so careless, so stupid. Granted, he didn't know withdrawal victim's could overdose so easily, but he should have checked with Gaius on the dosage, gone over every miniscule detail on what he was supposed to do, should have done...something! It was astonishing really. After going through such lengths to get his friend back alive, it was Arthur who had almost ended up killing him. Twice.

The guilt alone was enough to drive Arthur mad. All this had begun with one wrong decision and it seemed it just kept spiraling further with even more. Maybe he wasn't fit to be king. If he couldn't even make a decision concerning his servant that didn't almost get the young man killed what odds did the entire kingdom have?

Merlin was right not to trust him anymore. He barely even trusted himself now.

"Sire, are you alright?" Gaius' voice broke through Arthur's turmoil. He blinked owlishly and looked up, realizing he was still sitting on the floor. Gaius was looking down at Arthur with concern, his brows furrowed.

"Yes I'm—," Arthur's voice came out scratchy and worn. He cleared his throat before continuing, "I'm fine, thank you Gaius." He quickly changed the subject before any more inquiries could be made. "So, what happens now?"

Gaius scrutinized Arthur for one more second before shaking his head and looking back at Merlin. "Well we need to slowly wean him off the drug, give him half doses of each preceding dose every day until his body can function without it entirely. It should take no more than a month or two that is if there's no complications or setbacks." Gaius sighed, worry once more clouding his features as he gazed down at the sleeping form of his ward. "The problem will be Merlin himself and his desire to cooperate. He won't want to take the drug but I'm sure he'll have no desire to start the withdrawal process all over again either. So I don't know if he'll accept our help or not. And I just don't know how we'll get him to take the drug if he refuses. I'm sure hiding it in his food will only work this once."

Arthur sighed. He had thought about that. He assumed that since Merlin was so unwilling to ingest the drug on his own to start with that, even once he was back on it, his mind would not have changed in those regards.

"It won't have to be hidden in anything," Arthur declared sadly, more for Merlin than for himself at what he was going to suggest. "All I have to do is order him to take it and he will be unable to refuse." He let out a breathy humorless chuckle, examining his boots as thought they were the most interesting things in the world.

"Arthur…," he heard Gaius say, voice full of pity and he quickly cut that sentence off before it could grow.

"I mean what does it matter, really? He already hates me. I already betrayed him and broke his trust. One more added to the list won't matter." Arthur's voice cracked slightly and he lowered it to just above a whisper, feeling too hollow and guilt ridden to waste anymore energy on trying to be heard. "He'll never forgive me anyway."

Silence, thick and heavy with emotions hung in the air. He could practically hear Gaius, opening and closing his mouth several times, trying to find the right words to sooth his king's aching heart. But the silence just continued. It was uncomfortable and suffocating letting his words hang there between them, deciding his fate, controlling his destiny. And for some unknown reason, Arthur felt that his destiny, his fate, all seemed to ride on Merlin's ability to trust him again, to restore his faith in him. It was silly and completely childish of him to think such a thing, but it felt true.

Arthur shook his head, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind and focusing once more on the present.

"Just a month or two and he'll be back to his old self again," he remarked, wanting to just say something, anything to erase the words still hanging in the air. He looked up at Gaius, meeting the physician's eyes, seeing the pity and remorse he wished to avoid within their depths. And he wouldn't be able to it seemed as the old man opened his mouth to speak.

But Arthur stood quickly, feigning a yawn and cutting the physician off before he could say anything. "I'm going to turn in for the night. If you need anything, or if anything happens, send for me right away." Arthur turned around and strode through the open door, making to close it as he left. But he stopped suddenly and looked back at Gaius. "Oh and Gaius?" The old man inclined his head in response, eyes meeting Arthur's own, the pity in them having receded slightly. Arthur ignored it, making sure the seriousness and authority in his voice was evident as he spoke. "I will be the only one to give Merlin his doses if he refuses. That's an order."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuunnnnnn


	8. Chapter 8

Two months.

It took two months for Merlin to be rid of the drug.

Two months of arguments, both one-sided and not, of yelling and screaming, of sleepless nights and waking nightmares, of anger and joy, and heartbreak and healing. Two months of pain and misery coupled with understanding and loyalty.

For Arthur never gave up on Merlin. Even on that first day, when the servant woke up and immediately deemed Arthur no better than his captors and barred him from Gaius' chambers (well as much as a mute, weakened, and drug-addled young man can). Even when, after finally being allowed to see his friend again, Merlin's eyes stabbed him with hatred and anger, the remnants of trust and friendship now broken swimming within their depths. Even when, after three weeks, Merlin returned as Arthur's servant reluctantly upon Gaius' constant insistence—Gaius never directly ordered Merlin to do anything anymore, not on purpose—and sometimes the headaches and shakes became a hindrance to his duties. Arthur never gave up on him, never stopped trying to earn back his trust and friendship again.

Even when Merlin refused Arthur's help in any form, refused to even acknowledge Arthur besides sharp nods and stoney glares. For almost two months.

But he never refused the doses and Arthur never had to force them upon him. Granted, Merlin was beyond angry, hurt, betrayed, and stressed to the point of some sort of fit when he re-discovered that he was back on the drug and would be for the next month or so. And Arthur's presence hadn't helped at all. Gaius had quickly ordered him out of their chambers as Merlin panicked so much he about passed out. An hour passed as Arthur waited outside Gaius' chambers listening the old physician calm Merlin down. He had listened as the physician explained to Merlin all that had occurred during his withdrawal, would occur if he went back into withdrawal, and had been prevented by choosing to wean him off it slowly. And Merlin eventually complied. Or, at least, that's what Arthur was told. He hadn't been permitted to see Merlin for a little over three weeks since the day after the overdose.

Gaius had told him that Merlin needed time to completely calm down, to understand that what they—meaning Arthur, for in Merlin's eyes, Arthur was solely responsible for this new bout of addiction—had done was for his own good and to save his life. Arthur had been sure that that day would never come, that Merlin would never want to see him again. He even thought Merlin would leave Camelot for good and go back to Ealdor.

But he never did and Arthur contributed that to Gaius' talks and Gwaine's ever-present company.

The knight it seemed never left Merlin alone for long, always keeping him company and helping him through the effects he still suffered. Though he was still a knight and still had obligations, Gwaine always found time to spend with Merlin. And Arthur couldn't find it in himself to reprimand the knight the few times he didn't show up for training, knowing exactly where the man was and who he was with. Those were normally exceptionally bad days for Merlin, when the drug craving was the worst or the headaches incapacitating.

Days when he needed a friend by his side. And since Arthur wasn't allowed to be that person, he gave the person who could a little leeway.

Yes, it hurt knowing that someone else was spending every day with Merlin just like he used to. But he understood that Merlin needed his space at the moment, needed time to come to terms with everything. And Gwaine constantly told Arthur how he was slowly working down the walls Merlin had built between himself and the king. Arthur just hoped it worked, and soon. He didn't know how much more he could take of this. It was eating him up inside.

Something seemed to work though, for just about three weeks after the overdose, Arthur was woken by a distant but semi-cleareyed Merlin. No words could describe the joy he felt at the sight.

But despite his return to work, Merlin still hadn't forgiven Arthur, still felt hurt and betrayed if the glares, indifferent expressions, and lack of acknowledgement were anything to go by. He spent little time around Arthur, instead taking the list of chores Arthur gave him each morning—a written command didn't seem to affect Merlin the way a spoken one did—and disappearing until the evening. He would then prepare Arthur for bed and, once dismissed for the night, leave his chambers without so much as a nod only to return in the morning.

Arthur never had the heart to try and make him stay and communicate with him in a two way conversation. Forcing Merlin to communicate with him was never going to get him anywhere. He would, however, when Merlin's chores forced them to remain in the same room, talk to Merlin—it was more like rambling nonsense really but Arthur would never admit that—, having complete one-sided conversations with the young man about anything and everything. Just knowing that Merlin was listening, was there in the same room, was enough for now. He knew he couldn't force forgiveness but he did everything he could think of that might help it along.

Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw a smile cross his servant's face, or a quiet laugh pass his lips as the king talked, but those moments of amusement were usually gone so fast, ending with Arthur always assuming he imagined it.

And he knew that Merlin was still on the drug. The now-small doses he took were still enough for him to be affected by it and Arthur had to be extra vigilant about what he said lest he accidently order the young man about and forced compliance upon him. It was difficult, and there were a handful of moments when the young king got so caught up in the normalcy of having Merlin back at his side that he absentmindedly let a command slip. Even though he would immediately realize his mistake and remedy it as best he could, the damage had already been done. And Merlin would storm out after being released from the effects, not to be seen until the next morning.

But he returned. He always returned.

It gave Arthur hope that maybe not all was lost between them, that one day Merlin would forgive him.

That day came one month, three weeks, and six days after Arthur had forced the drug back on Merlin, shattering the friendship that he held so dearly. As the the leaves on the trees surrounding the castle turned from yellow to red and the temperature dipped slightly, forcing the inhabitants of Camelot to don cloaks and gloves more often than not. Winter would be upon them within the next couple of months and from the looks of the last few, it would be a harsh one. Arthur was worried but knew, that despite it all, they could pull through. He would ensure it.

The king stood on the ramparts at the rear of the citadel, staring out over the battlements, eyes focused on nothing in particular, content to just let his thoughts roam as the nighttime landscape bled together until it was nothing but dark ink spattered across his vision.

From the day that Merlin had gone missing, Arthur had been quite restless in sleep, sometimes only able to catch a couple of hours before he was awoken by some thought or memory or nightmare. And usually, despite how hard he tried, he was incapable to returning to the land of dreams. He didn't want to wake Gwen for he knew she would worry about his well-being. She meant well, he knew that, but her worry and concern for him were instead causing him to become even more restless. So it was on sleepless nights like these that the king would wander out to the battlements overlooking his kingdom to think, to feel, to just be and escape. With the cool night air rustling around him and the quiet of the night, he found it was easier to sift through his troubling thoughts.

Soft footsteps pulled Arthur from his thoughts. He blinked a couple of times, the forest coming back into inky black focus as the footsteps got closer, slowed, then stopped less than a foot from where he stood. Thinking it was Gwen come to ask what was troubling him, Arthur turned his head an easy excuse upon his lips but the words got stuck in his throat.

For there, bathed in soft moonlight as the gentle breeze tousled his black hair, was Merlin.

Arthur was speechless, his brain struggling to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Merlin was here, standing beside him so casually, not glaring daggers or gifting Arthur with his recently ever-present distant expression that he seemed to reserve solely for the king.

It was more than Arthur could have ever hoped for at the moment.

"Merlin? Is everything alright? Are you okay? I can go get Gwaine if—," Arthur paused mid-sentence as Merlin rolled his eyes, a hesitant but amused grin spreading slowly across his face. It was so normal, so much like the old Merlin that Arthur could do nothing but stare at his servant. He only realized he must have a striking resemblance to a fish with his mouth open and gaping when Merlin huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes sparkling with mirth. Arthur quickly shut his mouth with a snap.

Taking a mental step back, Arthur let his eyes roam over Merlin critically. The young man was pale, paler than usual that is, with a hint of darkening bags under his eyes as though he too was having trouble sleeping. But he looked better, had been looking better and healthier as the weeks passed. He was fully dressed, the usual worn blue tunic and red neckerchief in place as was the brown trousers and worn boots. Arthur frowned for a second, trying to see what was wrong with this picture before understanding seeped in.

Merlin was fully dressed, not still in a nightshirt like Arthur.

This wasn't just some random meeting, a coincidence that Merlin had just happened to come walking this way when he was unable to sleep at exactly this moment. No he was prepared, ready to stay out here all night—might have been out for hours searching—waiting for Arthur to make an appearance.

Merlin had sought Arthur out.

He had also not ignored him or glared at him once during this meeting. No, he had grinned, he had been casual, had even rolled his eyes at him. Like before.

The breath was stolen from Arthur's lungs as he came to this realization.

And now he couldn't shake the feeling that Merlin—his Merlin, the Merlin that would laugh at him, the Merlin whose eyes shone with adoration and fierce loyalty, the Merlin who never left his side and who was a complete idiot but for all the right reasons—was back. His servant, his guide, his advisor, his friend. No, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that the transition was this quick, painless, and easy. That Merlin would just seemingly wake up from the betrayal and hurt and pain he had been experiencing and forgive Arthur.

No, he was not completely daft.

He knew that, no matter what, Merlin would never be the same, what they had wouldn't be the same. But the young man standing before him, who had shunned him and refused to listen to anything he said least of all acknowledge it, seemed to have forgiven him.

To some degree at least.

"Merlin—," Arthur began, the apology he had voiced multiple times over the course of the last month and a half ready to spew forth once again but Merlin stopped him with an annoyed glare. But the heat and anger behind it was gone, replaced instead with an amused understanding that clearly said _I know. I forgive you already, you prat._

"You—am I—do you forg—." He paused not knowing how to word what he hoped to be true but needing Merlin's acknowledgement to be sure he wasn't just imagining things. He took a deep breath. "Are we...okay?"

And Merlin smiled softly, the fondness that had been ever present before this whole fiasco clear once again in his eyes as he nodded.

Relief flooded Arthur as the turmoil, pain, and torment from the past weeks washed away, leaving behind an almost overwhelming joy and hope. Granted, the guilt that had been building ever since Merlin had disappeared had not left, only diminished by a small amount so that it wasn't quite so overwhelming anymore. It was still there, still eating away at Arthur every day, but in the light of Merlin's forgiveness, it had been dampened.

The young man stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Arthur's as he placed a strong but comforting hand upon the king's shoulder, gathering his full attention. Then he inclined his head, expression morphing into one that Arthur was used to, that meant he had some words of caution or wisdom to impart.

Arthur waited, expecting Merlin to reach for the parchment and charcoal quill he knew Gaius had given the young man for communication purposes. Though Arthur rarely saw him use the instruments, knowing that Merlin despised them—though he could also see the servant hated the look of pitying confusion he received when his looks and gestures were not understood—he still thought that this time, he would. But Merlin did no such thing.

He gestured between the two of them, first pointing at Arthur then at himself repeatedly before making a motion like breaking twigs.

"Something is still…broken between us?" Merlin looked surprised for a second before he nodded sadly, a small smile upon his lips. The young man looked upwards then, one long lithe finger pointing toward the unusually clear night sky before looking back at Arthur and gesturing his eyes up. Arthur looked up, gaze finally falling upon the moon, which Merlin was pointing at, before looking back at Merlin. The servant moved his arm in a wide circle, mimicking the setting and rising of the moon and sun twice before dropping the arm back to his side.

"But….it'll take time," he finished, his heart dropping a little at the realization. Merlin nodded again, looking down at his boots in embarrassment before glancing up at Arthur through his eyelashes.

He had expected it, really he had, but it still hurt knowing that not everything had been so easily restored. But still, Merlin was communicating with him, making an effort to repair what had been broken just like Arthur had been struggling to do for a while now. And that in itself lifted Arthur's spirit once more. He grinned stupidly, clapping Merlin on the back gently and nodding his understanding. Merlin grinned broadly back, the first real genuine grin Arthur had seen from him since he had returned.

He had his Merlin back. Everything would be alright.

After a few moments, Merlin stepped away from the ramparts. He faced Arthur, a cheeky grin on his face as he performed an exaggerated bow in the king's direction. Arthur glared humorously at the motion, nodding.

"Goodnight, Merlin," he stated warmly, dismissing his friend. Merlin just grinned back before turning and walking back along the ramparts toward the castle.

Arthur watched Merlin walk away until his shadowy form disappeared into the castle. It was only then that he realized that, despite his inability to communicate properly and efficiently with his friend throughout the whole conversation, he had understood Merlin perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww they are the best aren't they? Whether it be bromance or romance, Merthur love is strong.


	9. Chapter 9

- _A little over two months after overdose_ -

Arthur awoke slowly, feeling completely rested for the first time in...months. He opened his eyes, grinning happily as he turned on his side. The sun shining through his window illuminated his chambers with a golden glow, causing his sleepy smile to brighten even more.

The smile faded though as his mind awoke further and the realization that something wasn't right overcame him.

Arthur sat up quickly, eyes scanning his chambers for anything out of place, anything that could warrant his feelings. But the room was tidy, not a speck out of place—not in Merlin's standard of clean that is—nothing to warrant these feelings of uneasy. Nothing at all, really.

Then he realized.

They were empty. His chambers were empty.

"Merlin!" He called out, exasperated.

Silence followed only punctuated by the sounds of servants going about their day to day activities within the courtyard below his window.

A window through which he could see the height of the sun in the mid morning sky. Arthur cursed.

"MERLIN!"

Still no answer.

Arthur extracted himself from the bed—the bed that he noticed was also empty save for himself, Gwen obviously having already risen for the day—trying to keep the rising concern from taking over entirely as he quickly threw on a tunic and his boots. He fumed silently to himself as he strode to the chamber door, opening it with much more force than he intended.

Why Merlin hadn't woken him up at the normal time, he didn't know. He was completely off the drug now so everything should be fine in that aspect. Probably just getting back into his usual laziness, was all. And Arthur hoped that was the truth. It would give him the excuse to berate the young man, just like old times. It was only proper, after all.

But what if this was something else? What if something was wrong?

Navigating his way through the corridors, Arthur tried his best to keep his expression as neutrally annoyed as possible. He was the king after all, he needed to keep up appearances. He had to make it look like he was more annoyed at his manservant than concerned. Though he was pretty sure keeping that charade up was moot now. If most of his subjects didn't already know about his concern for Merlin he would eat his chainmail.

Arthur shook his head in exasperation and, without even bothering to knock, entered the physician's chambers.

And froze.

The room before him was in shambles. Pots and vials broken and strewn about the floor, their contents puddling on the floor, some letting off dangerous looking fumes. The workbench was overturned near the table with a couple of books lying haphazardly beside it. Gaius stood in the middle of the wreckage, back to Arthur and broom in hand, trying to sweep the remains of what looked like numerous vials and their various contents.

"Gaius?" Arthur inquired, confusion bleeding into worry as he took in the scene before him. "What happened?"

"Oh sire!" Gaius whirled around at the sound of his name, hand jumping to his heart. "I just sent a servant to fetch your breakfast. I apologize for not doing so earlier I've just been a bit busy with other concerns."

"What happened?" Arthur repeated, his worry spiking when he did another scan of the room and noticed Merlin's door was closed. Not a good sign.

"Nothing," Gaius said flippantly, but the answer came much too quick for Arthur to completely believe it. "Just a little accident that's all. Nothing to worry yourself with. But I'm afraid Merlin will be unable to wait on you today."

"Why? Is he okay?" Arthur asked, looking back at the old physician who was busying himself once more in the sweeping of the room. His brow was furrowed ever so slightly and Arthur had no doubt the physician was trying to come up with some excuse. Arthur frowned.

"Gaius," he said sternly, the warning clear.

The old physician paused in his sweeping before he sighed in resignation and glanced up at Arthur with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry sire, he just, he didn't want you to know. I told him you had a right to, but he insisted—"

"Know what, Gaius? Tell me what's wrong."

The old man sighed, seeming to age a few years with the exhale. "He's been having episodes of a sort—well he's only had two so far—since he's been off the drug. I can only describe them as a sort of attack of terror or panic that comes on suddenly, making it incredibly hard for him to breathe. He says it feels like he's heart is going to give out." Gaius' professional facade slipped over his features then, masking the concern and sorrow that had been present only moments before. "I have heard of similar episodes before, usually occurring after a person has experienced some sort of trauma, so its only logical that Merlin would develop the affliction after what he has been through."

The old man looked up at Arthur, and when the royal made no attempt to interrupt, he continued.

"I have yet to determine how they are triggered as Merlin doesn't seem to know either. The first two were mild and he was fine after—just tired and a little shaken—and able to get on with his day without a hitch. This one however," Gaius paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "It was quite severe. I managed to get him to mostly calm down but he was so exhausted I had to give a sleeping draught afterward."

Arthur looked around the room again, taking in the damage. It was understandable that, if one were to panic, this result was completely plausible. But there were little details here and there that just didn't entirely add up. Scorch marks on the ceiling above the candles in the room as though the flames had expanded and objects strewn across the floor far from where they usually nestled on shelves and table tops. It was strange and yet, even though Arthur was questioning these anomalies, something was telling him it was normal, that there was an explanation for it.

So he just shook his head and focused back on what Gaius said.

"But Merlin's off the drug now. Why is he hallucinating?"

Eyebrow shot up in confusion. "I never said he was hallucinating, sire."

"Then I don't understand how he can be terrified of…nothing. If he's not seeing things then where does the fear come from? And the panic?"

"From his memories, sire. So far, anything from a simple touch to the sharp slide of metal on metal has been or can be a trigger, though it is not always the case. I believe each is a reminder of or triggers a memory of something that happened to him while he was with the slavers."

Arthur had hoped, oh he had hoped so fervently that the worst was over, that Merlin was back despite the damage done to him. He knew that the aftermath of torture or battles could leave even the most hardened of knights with nightmares and stress. It was rare with his highly trained knights but sometimes it would still happen. He had even witnessed such things firsthand. But the knights were fine, got over the initial fear and stress the ordeal left them with once they realized they were safe. However, such knights were usually released from duty not long after the event due to other matters. So Arthur never really knew how they faired in the long term. And now he was beginning to think the excuses he had been given for their early release from duty was not entirely the truth.

But over two months had passed since Merlin returned and not a sign nor sound of this affliction had reached Arthur. Though, that wasn't at all surprising seeing as this wasn't the first time the young man had had an episode and Arthur had only found out by accident. So that meant there were no plans of ever telling Arthur. Great, just great.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Once Merlin was completely healed, Arthur was going to make him pay for all the frustration and stress the young man caused him.

"So you mean to tell me that Merlin has been suffering these...episodes for two months and no one bothered to tell me?!"

Gaius' eyes went wide and immediately shook his head. "No no, sire! He just had his first no more than a week ago. I assume the drug managed to null his mind a bit so the affliction didn't surface until he was completely off of it."

Arthur nodded, still not entirely happy that he had been kept in the dark about this for more than a week. He had a right to know. Merlin was his manservant, his subject, his friend! He spent most of his time by Arthur's side, ending to Arthur. If something was plaguing his friend, he should have been the first to have been informed despite Merlin's protests. He could have done something. He could have...

Helped?

Immediately Arthur's thoughts hardened.

No. They were right to keep this from him. He had "helped" Merlin enough as it was. Every time he thought he was helping or doing the right thing, Merlin paid the price. And heavy ones at that. No, they had done the right thing. He would only do more harm than good. The past two months were evidence of that.

"Then what do you think triggered this." Arthur asked, forcing his gloomy thoughts to the back of his mind as he gestured to the wreckage in the room.

The old man pursed his lips, looking about the damage himself as though trying to find the object or reason behind it all. His gaze finally landed on something resting upon the table and he looked back at Arthur, eyes filled with guilt and sorrow.

"The spring scissors," the old physician stated, reaching over and picking up a simple pair of scissors and handing them to Arthur. "I think—," he paused, taking a shaky breath that pulled Arthur's attention away from the tool in his hand and back to Gaius. The old physician tried again, "I think the slavers used a similar tool to remove...to remove his tongue."

Suddenly, the scissors felt heavy and tainted in Arthur's grasp. The desire to throw the filthy tool as far away as he could, to destroy them, to toss them into the deepest lake was nearly overwhelming. He knew it wasn't this exact tool that had done the cruel deed but at the moment, that fact didn't really matter. In his eyes, all tools of similar use were now an abomination. He knew he would never be able to use or accept the tool for as long as he lived.

Arthur offered the scissors back to Gaius, not wanting to spend another second holding onto the offending object. But Gaius made no move to take them, shaking his head instead.

"I don't think I will be able to wield such a tool again let alone own one."

Arthur nodded in complete understanding. "I can give them to someone else who may find a use for them."

"Thank you, sire. I'm sure Merlin will appreciate that too."

At the mention of his name, Arthur looked back up at Merlin's door, silently wishing him well. Then he looked back at Gaius. "Let him know he has the rest of the day off when he wakes."

Gaius nodded. "I will, sire, thank you. I'm sure he will need it."

Arthur nodded to Gaius once more before turning and striding from the chambers.

And if Gwen or any of the servants ever found a mangled and destroyed pair of scissors in the king's fireplace later that night, no one said a word.

* * *

But as the week went by, it became apparent the loss of the drug only uncovered more problems that had lay dormant underneath. Along with the episodes—panic attacks Gaius called them—Merlin also began to suffer from nightmares and even severe mood swings—though Gaius ensured Arthur the latter was to be expected when one was trying to adapt to a new disability and way of life.

The nightmares, Gaius ensured, were under control thanks to a special sleeping draught—the same he used to brew up for Morgana. Arthur, however, wasn't entirely convinced. The bags under Merlin's eyes never seemed to truly fade, only expand and recede like the tide.

The mood swings, on the other hand, were difficult to control. They could hardly be helped, really. Arthur knew Merlin tried hard to keep calm, to remain patient and understanding when trying to communicate with others. But after attempting to convey what he was trying to say to another servant or knight for ten minutes—he conveniently forgot his charcoal and paper most days now, though Arthur knew better—and getting no understanding in return, the frustration, anger, and self pity were to be expected. He was only human after all.

It was hard on Merlin, not being able to perform the duties he used to so easily, Arthur could see that. There were times Merlin would just yell or lash out at his surroundings in frustration once away from prying eyes. Arthur's chambers would sometimes take the brunt of these beatings, and he would return to chairs overturned and papers strewn across the floor. But instead of berating Merlin for the damage, he would just quietly back out, choosing to perform his duties elsewhere until he was forced to return later that evening. And by then, any evidence that the event had occurred had been erased.

However it wasn't these times of anger that worried Arthur most. Not even close. It was what followed that had him most worried.

Depression was a very real and very serious symptom, he knew that. And it completely unnerved Arthur to see it take over his once cheerful and cheeky friend. Merlin did his best to hide it though, to conceal his true feelings from those around him. But Arthur, having become completely attuned to Merlin since retrieving his friend, noticed. The lines of sorrow that etched his face when he thought no one was looking, the heavy weight that descended upon the young man's shoulders after a truly horrible day battling his disability, it was heartbreaking. And though Arthur tried everything he could think of to cheer his friend up, the moments of happiness were only short lived. The sorrow and weight would descend again and envelop Merlin in darkness, forcing Arthur to start all over, trying in vain to scattering the darkness with light. But he never stopped fighting it, never stopped reminding Merlin of all the light that was still shining him. Upon them all.

And when Merlin's dark days become few and far between, then it was all worth it.

Now the panic attacks, those were a completely different story. No amount of reassurance that he was safe, that he was home could keep them away for long. No matter what precautions he took nor how many times Arthur tried, the episodes refused to abate. They weren't getting worse per se but they weren't getting any better either. They would fluctuate, sometimes being nothing more than a slight seizing of the heart and gasping for breath, easily dispelled with a few calming words. Other times they were so intense, Gaius was afraid Merlin might have a heart attack or suffocate if he wasn't calmed down quick enough. Which never happened but the frightening possibility was always there. And if strange occurrences happened while Merlin was in the throes of a panic attack—candles burning brighter and hotter, glass shattering, objects jumping off their perches unprovoked—it was only a coincidence, or so Arthur told himself. He might have even imagined most of it, so focused as he was on Merlin.

There was, however, one spark of hope, one ray of happiness that came from all this.

Arthur, it seemed, was the only one who could completely calm Merlin down.

"But why me? Not too long ago he hated me, couldn't even look at me let alone be in the same room as me," Arthur asked Gaius one night, watching Merlin sleep on the patient cot in the main room after another one of his panic attacks.

A little more than an hour earlier, Leon had come bursting into Arthur's chambers, causing Arthur to spill ink across the document he had been drafting. The king had been ready to reprimand the knight about bursting into his chambers uninvited when Leon spoke, saying Gaius needed Arthur in the physician's chambers as a matter of urgency. And that could only mean one thing.

Merlin.

Arthur had sprinted down the corridors, ignoring the shocked but knowing looks the servants shot him as he barreled past. He didn't care. All that mattered was getting to his friend and ensuring his health and safety. Upon entering the physician's chambers, Arthur's eyes had immediately spotted Merlin, body curled impossibly tight in the corner of the room, eyes wide and darting around the room as he fought for every breath and his limbs shook something fierce. Gaius was kneeling in front of the terrified servant, speaking calmly to him as he tried to get closer. But Merlin would panic even more every time Gaius tried to get closer, garbled sounds escaping his mouth, hands splayed in front of him in defense. The terror and pain in his eyes sparked at every movement, as though it wasn't Gaius he saw in front of him nor the chambers he called home. It was only when Arthur cautiously approached, voice low and reassuring, that a spark of recognition crossed Merlin's eyes. From then it was just reassurances of time and place and safety before Arthur was finally able to reach Merlin and console him with soothing touches and a comforting embrace. He calmed down after that, terror morphing into sobs as he curled into Arthur, still shaking slightly but breathing easier and heart rate slower. An hour later and Merlin was asleep, still on the floor in the corner of the room but breathing deeply and easily knowing he was safe in Arthur's warm embrace.

And Arthur, despite the terrifying event that had just taken place, was happier than he had ever been. Merlin felt safe around him, Merlin calmed around him, Merlin needed him. And somewhere, deep within his subconscious—the part that appeared when fear took over—Merlin still trusted him.

"You two share a strong bond, sire," Gaius shrugged, as though that statement alone answered Arthur's question. However, Arthur thought there was something else, something Gaius wasn't telling him.

But that could be explored later on. For now, Arthur was content in the knowledge that Merlin, despite all that had happened between them, needed Arthur. Just as Arthur needed him.


	10. Chapter 10

Silence was not Merlin's friend.

In fact, now, he downright despised it.

Before, the silence was a companion, a comfort when he needed to think or just feel or just be. A friend he could confide in and practice his magic with. He would welcome it after a hectic day of running around after Arthur, trading insults and jibes with the prince-now-king until his throat was sore and his mind exhausted. The silence let him recharge, content to just let him lie within its presence as he let his mind wander free and unchecked. Peaceful, that's what it was.

But now…

Now the silence had betrayed him. It was no longer a comforting friend just waiting for his return, no longer the peaceful being he thought it was. It was still a place he would practice his magic, in the silence of the night—and god did it feel good to do so after the drug had left his system and he was able to let his magic had fill him up and embraced him like a long lost friend. But now the silence also mocked him, followed him around like a parasite he couldn't get rid of, sucking the joy and ease out of his life little by little until he didn't think there would be anything left. Until he didn't think there would be anything left of _him_. It was no longer a void he himself could choose to fill with his words, no longer an escape from his busy life. It had now _become_ his life.

And he hated it.

No matter how he tried to escape it, no matter how he tried to avoid it, silence was always there to greet him whether he wanted it to or not. It met him around every turn, at the end of every question asked, at the lull in every conversation that he so badly wanted to fill. Even at the end of every joke, or jibe, or insult where he used to insert one of his own.

And it hurt. It hurt so much worse than the act that turned the silence from a friend to an enemy.

But worse was when he tried to answer the questions, tried to fill in the lull of the conversation, tried to inquire about something and the gestures or looks he so desperately attempted to fill the silence with in place of his words went unrecognized or misunderstood. It left him feeling helpless and frustrated, betrayed by his own lack of voice and a disability that was not of his choosing. He didn't want this, he never asked for this. And yet it was his burden to bare, just as his destiny and the destiny of all of Albion was. But this burden, this burden was unfair. It never promised a light at the mouth of the cave, a happiness once it had been shouldered through the rain and the muck. No. The silence was his only reward, the silence was his only companion. It was a hound sinking its teeth through flesh and bone, refusing to let go until he was torn apart. And even then, it would just keep holding on, never truly letting him go.

It was as the frustration and anger waned that Merlin understood this. He understood that it didn't matter how much he romped and raged about, it wouldn't change the fact that he wouldn't speak again. Even the self depreciation and pity and overwhelming sorrow that overtook him wouldn't change a thing. But, like the silence, they too were a hard hound to shake. No matter how many times Arthur tried to tell him otherwise—because he out of everyone had seen the sorrow welling up within Merlin—or tried to pick him up out of his sadness—the word depression left a bad taste in his mouth despite his inability to even speak it anymore—he always seemed to get caught back up in its jaws.

Though there were other times when a little spark of happiness or joy would sneak up on him. Sometimes he just couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face when a comment was made or a joke was told.

"There's the Merlin I know. It's good to see you smile again mate," Gwaine stated kindly once, hope glinting in his eyes. But Merlin knew it was falsely placed. He wasn't the same as before and he never would be no matter how many jokes the brunette knight told. He couldn't reciprocate, couldn't spit out jibes, couldn't communicate at all on his own, not without the crutch of paper and charcoal. He would forever rely on others' ability to comprehend and interpret his abnormal ways of saying what he wanted, what he needed, what he was trying to say. It was frustrating and degrading and god it tore him apart from the inside out every time he saw someone staring back at him in confusion, the pity and sorrow etched deeply on their face as they tried desperately to understand his meaning only to watch it slip through their fingers like water.

Even Arthur, with his uncanny ability to know what Merlin was trying to say—and Merlin attributed this solely to his magic, to the fact that it had been given to Merlin to aid Arthur—ran into a few road blocks here and there. He never let his pity and frustration show but Merlin could sense it. And it hurt more than any of the others'. The pain he knew was hidden deep in Arthur's eyes forced the guilt he had tried so desperately to bury to rush to the surface and threaten to overwhelm him. He didn't want to put Arthur through this. He didn't want to be a burden to Arthur, to anyone. Despite knowing it wasn't entirely his fault, that he had no choice in the matter, Merlin felt guilty at having been mutilated like this. If only he had kept his mouth shut, just waited out his time with the slavers until he could escape then none of this would have happened. And now he no longer had to pretend to play the fool. He was actually filling into the role quite nicely. A burden, a simpleton, now as accurately useless as Arthur had always claimed him to be.

But Arthur didn't give up no matter how bleak it seemed. He kept trying to reach Merlin, to tear him out of the darkness and help him see that not all was lost not all was filled with guilt and sorrow and anger. He was able to do what others had attempted and failed.

He brought Merlin back.

Arthur was able to break through the walls that clouded Merlin's vision and the thoughts that poisoned his mind. Even when Merlin was on the drug and had yet to forgive him, had yet to even acknowledge or try to communicate—however poorly—with the the king, Arthur had made him smile. The king had broken through his pain and hurt and anger with his mindless chattering and ramblings that so graciously filled the silence. He had made Merlin smile and even laugh despite the betrayal the king had committed. It was a feat that Merlin hadn't thought was possible. But somehow, Arthur had done it.

And later, when he was off the drug and his mind clear enough for the sorrow, angst, and other horrors to set in, Merlin became ever so thankful for that particular skill that Arthur possessed.

It was utterly terrifying the first time Merlin had had a panic attack.

It was silly—shameful really—what had set him off the first time. He had been off the drug for little over a day, keeping himself busy with chores and errands during the daytime and reading during the night. But the morning of the second day without the drug saw Merlin eating breakfast at the table. In front of him was a bowl of the standard gruel mush he had been consuming every morning that he was extremely thankful he couldn't taste if looks were anything to go by—Gaius stated it held most the nutrients his body needed and yet couldn't get through more the solid foods. His mind had begun to wander slightly as he ate, thinking about all the food he missed and wished he could taste again. So it was when Gaius placed a gentle hand on his shoulder—something the old man had done countless times before—that it happened.

The touch triggered a memory, one from his time in the cells as he went through his withdrawal punishment, Doran grinning menacingly down at him, laughing at his pain and his misery and his utter _need_ for the drug that was the cause of all his problems in the first place his desire for it and yet his desperation to not give in to not be at the mercy of these cruel men but having no choice as the pain raged through him and licked at his every pore making it hard to breathe even as someone told him that he was alright that everything was fine but it wasn't he was at the mercy of these men but they kept saying he was fine and that he was back in Camelot but he couldn't seem to breathe to get enough air and his magic wanted to help but he clamped it down and his heart was pounding so hard it hurt and might burst but that voice kept telling him it was alright…

And then he was back in their chambers—though sitting on the floor this time—Gaius kneeling in front of him. The old physician's voice calm and soothing repeating a mantra of "you're safe"s and "its alright"s and "just breathe"s. His wrinkled hands rubbed Merlin's shoulders soothingly, easing the tension that still remained there and brushing off the remains of the memory and what had triggered it.

He was fine, he was safe, he was in Camelot, no longer at the mercy of those men. Not there, not there.

He was home.

Eventually his breathing eased, his heart rate slowing to a much more manageable pace. And after only an hour more and plenty of assurances to Gaius written on one of the ever present pieces of paper in their chambers that he was alright, he set out to wake Arthur. Yes, he had been late but really when was he not? And if the rush and extra chores he was given helped keep his mind busy and away from what he had experienced that morning, then all the better.

But it seemed that episode was not to be his only one.

Another one occurred not but a few days later as he sat in the armory polishing Arthur's chainmail and sharpening his sword. This time though, he was alone. Thankfully, it was not a deep enough memory for him to get completely sucked in and after what he assumed was only half a minute, Merlin had been able to pull himself out and back into the armory. Even though he could see his surroundings during the episode, see he wasn't back with the slavers, his mind told him otherwise and his body seemed to respond accordingly. And afterwards, he had been disoriented but managed to calm himself down and focus on his breathing and the fact that he was back in Camelot, back at Arthur's side. And that had been enough.

After that though, they got more intense. The memories triggered were more vivid, keeping him within their grasp for long minutes, refusing to let him go. They bled together his reality and his memories until he couldn't be sure which was real. The pain, the terror, the inability to breathe those were real enough and it wasn't until he was sure he had had a heart attack due to the complete agony he was in that he lashed out, eyes turning gold with his pent up magic even as he tried to clamp it down. But the terror was too strong and he needed the comfort that his magic provided and it still needed to be released after being so forcefully squandered by the drug. Seconds later reality sharpened to a point where the enemy faded to reveal Gaius and the old man could finally calm him down. Merlin had been so shaken and so thoroughly terrified and exhausted by the end of it that Gaius had made him take a sleeping draught and helped him to his bed.

But not before he had caught a glimpse of the state of the main room.

And then it was when he awoke some hours later that Gaius confirmed it. Yes, his magic had flared up, shattering cookware and vials, spurring the candle flames high up the walls to lick at the ceiling, and even launching objects about the room haphazardly while he had been caught in his panic. The realization was frightening in and of itself. The fact that a panic attack could happen at any moment or any time and his magic could flare up again, possibly in the presence of the knights or Arthur almost set off another attack on its own. Gaius though, anticipating his reaction, had been able to calm him down and reassure him before he panicked entirely.

But that did not help abate his fear.

Now he had to worry about revealing himself on top of the terror of not knowing when or where another panic attack could occur nor how bad it would be. This on top of everything else, was almost too much for Merlin to handle.

It wasn't until the next attack struck leaving Merlin trying to battle not only the memories but also his magic's desire to come to his aid, that they figured out the key.

Arthur.

He broke through Merlin's panic faster than Gaius had, better than even Gwaine, who had spent the weeks Merlin went through the pain of slowly getting rid of the drug by the servant's side, helping him through it all. Arthur's voice broke through Merlin's panic, the sight of him tore down the veil, and his touch grounded him, easing Merlin's tension and letting him breathe. But most of all, Arthur's show of true care and devotion to Merlin allowed him to release the damn he had built up to keep back his almost overwhelming emotions on an everyday basis. Before he even knew what was happening, all that he had tried so desperately to hold back—the hurt, the anger, the frustration, the pain, the terror since his time with the slavers through now—it all bled out through his tears and wracking sobs as Arthur just sat there, holding him like a child and continuing to soothe him with soft words and gentle touches.

Even once when Merlin was sure that some magic had escaped while he was in the throes of panic, was sure that Arthur—who was now always there to bring him back down and comfort him—had seen it and would turn his comfort to anger, Arthur didn't leave him. And he calmed down even more knowing that Arthur hadn't seen, that his secret was safe, still intact despite the struggle it took to keep it that way. He didn't want to lose Arthur, he realized, despite the still mending trust between them. They needed each other.

They were two sides of the same coin, Merlin could see that now more than ever. He needed to help Arthur become the great king he knew he was and unite the land of Albion. And Arthur, it seemed, needed to help Merlin heal and stay whole.

* * *

It was because of Arthur that Merlin was able to pull himself out of the darkness time and time again.

That and the hope that continued to spark within him. Literally.

Magic.

Unbeknownst to Arthur, for the past few weeks, Merlin had been searching with determination through every book, tome, and scroll he could get his hands on for a magical solution—or not but he doubted there was a scientific or medical answer to his problem—to his disability.

Ideally, he hoped to restore his tongue completely but would also settle for a speech assisting spell. Yes, he realized that suddenly being able to speak or having a tongue where there once was none was a little suspicious and quite obviously magical but Merlin was not worried. He had explained away much more impossible scenarios before and it helped that Arthur and the knights could be a bit thick sometimes. Really, he would think of something when the time came. But for now, he wanted to ensure that the time would actually come about. And for that, he needed to keep looking for a spell.

During his search, he came across a few spells that although they provided no solution to his predicament, intrigued him. He hadn't done proper magic since being off the drug and his magic itched to be let out. But, despite his ability to perform instinctual and nonverbal magic with simple spells or in the face of danger, Merlin quickly discovered that he was severely inept when in a common setting. Granted, the spells he found were slightly difficult—not as simple as say causing someone's trousers to fall or breaking a tree branch—and his magic was more than willing to jump to his command. But without the guidance of a verbal spell, it didn't seem to know exactly what he wanted. Much control was lost without a spoken incantation or the desperation that came in the heat of battle.

It was an extremely disheartening discovery, one that almost sent Merlin spiraling back down into the darkness, but he pulled himself back up before he could be lost and focused on his original task. He would find a solution to his disability, he was sure of it. Destiny surely hadn't meant for him to spend the rest of his days as a mute. He was no use to Arthur that way.

So he continued searching for a spell.

Not a week later, fate seemed to smile down on him once again. He discovered a spell, one that allowed a person's voice to be heard—as if spoken aloud—despite their inability to communicate for whatever reason. But it was a complicated and energy consuming spell not to mention a little more suspicious than just regrowing his tongue.

However, it didn't matter. The spell needed to be spoken aloud in order for it to work—Merlin had already attempted to incant it nonverbally with no luck and really who was the idiot that invented this ironic spell anyway. So Merlin turned to Gaius, hoping the old physician could perform the spell for him.

At first, Gaius had refused, saying it was much too dangerous and daming. But at that point Merlin's desperation clouded his judgement as he begged the physician.

And finally Gaius agreed.

It wasn't until after the old physician was unconscious from the attempt, after Merlin had screamed himself hoarse in shock and distress and the guards arrived and helped him get the old man onto the bed—which by then Merlin was relieved to feel a pulse, albeit a weak one upon his guardian—that the young warlock understood.

Gaius wasn't powerful enough.

Not only had the old man been referring to the dangers the spell might have on Merlin, but he had also been referring to the dangers it would have on Gaius himself. The amount of energy the spell required had nearly killed the aging physician and even then hadn't been enough.

And the spell hadn't worked.

The guilt nearly crushed Merlin with its sheer weight as he realized what he had done. Blinded by his own pain, his own selfish need Merlin had completely overlooked the possible consequences. And it had almost cost Gaius his life.

That night Merlin didn't leave the physician's side, keeping vigil on him until morning all the while begging the unconscious man through his tears for forgiveness.

And that's where Arthur found him the next morning after no doubt having been informed of the physician's collapse the previous night. Merlin was solemnly sitting beside Gaius' cot, red-rimmed bleary eyes staring at the unconscious physician without really seeing him, his tears having dried up hours earlier. He barely even registered the king's presence nor the assurance his friend gave that Merlin didn't have to wait on him until Gaius had recovered. Then the chambers were empty, allowing Merlin to wallow in his guilt in peace.

And Gaius, being the gracious and ever-loving man that he was, forgave his ward easily once he awoke and let the young man go with only a mild scolding. Merlin, however, didn't think he deserved such light punishment.

So he stopped searching for a solution. He didn't deserve the gift of speech, not after what he had done.

Yes, he knew very well that this wasn't the first time Gaius' life had been put on the line for him. But this was the first time it had been done by Merlin's direct actions. Unlike with Nimueh, Alator, and Morgana, Merlin had been directly involved with the physician's brush with death. Granted, he still felt guilt over what happened in those cases, but in the end he had been able to take Gaius' forgiveness easier though he still carried some of the guilt with him even now.

Which is what made his direct involvement in this occurrence that much worse.

Days passed and, despite his attempts—and the many attempts of Arthur, Gwen, and the knights—Merlin could feel himself settling deeper and deeper into depression—yes _depression_ —until it felt like he wasn't even a part of the world anymore. He just went through the motions, nodding here, following orders there, all the while faking a smile and becoming more and more detached as the days passed. It was a torture of his own making, but he refused to deviate from it. It was just punishment for his actions and nothing less than he deserved.

"Merlin." The familiar wise voice of his mentor and guardian broke through Merlin's thoughts as he sat grinding herbs at the table. "This needs to stop."

Merlin knew exactly what his mentor was referring to but he chose to feign ignorance in order to stall the uncomfortable lecture that he knew was coming. He stopped grinding the herbs, pushing the bowl toward Gaius before making to stand and retreat to his room. However, a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder kept him in place.

"No Merlin, not that. This." Merlin looked away knowing the old man was gesturing to his whole being. He couldn't bear to look at the physician, too afraid of what he may find swimming within the old man's eyes. Anger, disappointment, shame that he just didn't think he could handle receiving right now, especially from Gaius. The man who was a father to him in all but blood. The man who had taken him in and cared for him despite the dangers it posed not only to Merlin but to Gaius himself. The man who Merlin had repaid by almost getting him killed, again.

"Look at me, Merlin." The tone was commanding but still held a bit of concern that Merlin found himself unable to ignore. He sighed, mentally bracing himself for the road ahead, before reluctantly looking up.

Gaius wasn't looking at him with anger or shame but instead with a disappointment and guilt that Merlin didn't expect to find. For they didn't seem to be directed at Merlin, but at Gaius himself.

The young warlock's eyes widened at the sight, shock and confusion chasing all other thoughts from his mind. Why was Gaius feeling guilty? He had no reason to feel guilty. If anything he should be angry and resentful that Merlin's selfish desperation had almost cost him his life. No reason for him shoulder any guilt.

"This has to stop," the physician repeated. "It was not your fault—no let me finish please," he commanded firmly but gently as Merlin reached for the rarely used parchment and charcoal on the table. Merlin slowly retracted his hand and solemnly nodded for the man to continue.

"It was my choice to do the spell, my choice to assist you. I knew what I was doing, what the outcome most likely was to be, though I admit I hadn't known for sure. The result is completely _my fault_ , not yours. You need to understand that and stop punishing yourself."

Merlin hastily shook his head, trying to deny the truth but Gaius just raised his eyebrow, stopping the young warlock's denial in its tracks.

"I may be old Merlin, but I'm not stupid. I know you stopped searching for a solution not long after the incident. I've watched you become more and more distant with every passing day and it saddens me. But I know that's your way of punishing yourself and I'm telling you that _it stops now_." The order was firm and demanding, warning Merlin that there was to be no ignoring it.

The tears came then, unannounced and unhindered as an onslaught of emotions overwhelmed the young warlock. Guilt over everything that had happened since his rescue, sorrow for what he had lost and almost lost, and the ever-present uselessness he now felt constantly along with a multitude of others. It was all too much. And he was powerless to stop the tide, instead just trying his best not to drown.

A frail but comforting arm wrapped around his shoulders as Gaius sat beside him and he immediately curled in toward the old man, seeking comfort and forgiveness he couldn't even give himself.

"Its alright. Its ok. This is my fault. I never should have gone through with it. I never should have let you punish yourself like this. I should have stopped it in its tracks. It's my fault. Shhh it's ok," Gaius soothed quietly as Merlin continued to sob.

Wait, what?

Merlin shook his head pulling away a little and shooting Gaius his most intense _don't you dare_ glare that he could muster through the tears that continued to stain his face. He must have made a pretty sorry sight for Gaius chuckled before pulling him back into his arms.

"Alright, we can both share the blame, if that's what you want."

It wasn't, but Merlin knew no matter how much he tried, Gaius wouldn't ever let him take full responsibility. So for now, he let it go, content to remain in the comforting embrace of his guardian, listening to the old man's heart beat reassuringly beneath his breast.

* * *

It wasn't until later that night, after Merlin had calmed down and the two had eaten supper—both having a thick vegetable stew that Merlin could easily consume since Gaius refused to eat anything in Merlin's presence that the young man himself couldn't—that Gaius brought up the subject again.

"I must confess that even while you refused to continue the search for a solution, I did not." Hope built up in Merlin so fast he barely had a chance to contain it. But Gaius immediately caught onto his thoughts and shook his head. "No Merlin, I'm sorry, I didn't find anything. But my collection of tomes and research is not complete. There very well could be a solution out there somewhere but I am certain it is not here with us."

And just like that, the bubble of hope inside Merlin popped, causing his body to visibly deflate and a deep pain to take root in his chest. It wasn't until he found himself gasping for breath that he realized he was panicking.

But Gaius didn't let it get far, soothing him and telling him it was alright, that he still had a solution and he just needed Merlin to calm down and breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. In...out...in...

Merlin exhaled a shaky breath as finally he managed to calm down. That was the first time a panic attack had not been triggered by a memory or experience. Meaning that, even if he got past the trauma he had been through, he may never be cured of these attacks. He could have them for the rest of his life.

That thought alone almost sent him back into another. But he focused on Gaius sitting in front him, grounding him to the here and now and reminding him that he was not alone. He was fine, he was safe. Everything is going to be alright.

"Better now?" Merlin nodded shakily. "Good. I'm sorry I didn't mean to set you off. I just thought you ought to know. But don't give up now. There's still one more thing you haven't tried," Gaius hinted, eyebrow raised in waiting for Merlin to understand what he was referring to.

Merlin stared back in confusion, wracking his brain for another solution to his predicament. But if there was no magical solution at his disposal, did that mean that Gaius meant for him to go find one elsewhere? Or to go find someone powerful enough to perform the one they had found? But where would he even go? Where would he even start? He needed answers.

Then it came to him and a smile spread across his face.

Kilgharrah.

Why hadn't he thought of the dragon before? When he had a problem, when he needed answers, he usually went straight to the Great Dragon—after Gaius of course. Despite his annoying ability to not give straight answers, Kilgharrah was sure to be able to relieve Merlin of his disability. He was, after all, a creature of profound magic. And it couldn't be destiny's plan for the greatest warlock of all time to protect the Once and Future King as a mute. It just wasn't logical. Kilgharrah would know what to do if not cure him outright.

"Now Merlin," Gaius said, breaking Merlin out of his thoughts. "You must understand that with your disability, you may not be able to call the dragon as you used to. I'm not that knowledgeable in this subject though, so I could be wrong. Your dragonlord abilities may work differently and may not need complete pronunciation."

Merlin nodded, already deep in thought. Yes, he had already come to that realization but hopefully Gaius was right in the other aspect and his abilities would work regardless. One could only hope.

This was his last resort, his last chance to regain the life he used to live. If this didn't work, he wasn't sure what he would do, But he knew he wouldn't be able to continue like this. This world of silence was not one he wanted to be a part of. It was all too much and yet not nearly enough. Besides, he was incapable of fulfilling destiny hindered as he was. It was just nigh impossible. His magic was harder to control, harder to direct. He was useless like this, about as good at protecting Arthur as a toddler.

No, this had to work. Otherwise, without control of his magic and his ability to speak, he might as well not have this destiny at all.

"But we can worry about that all tomorrow," Gaius continued as he stood up from the table and cleared the remnants of their supper. "It's late and I'm tired. And you have a king to serve in the morning. So off to bed with you. Go," Gaius shooed, a stern but fond expression set on his face.

Merlin flashed Gaius a grateful smile, hoping his intentions weren't painted all over his face. He was thankful for all that his mentor had done for him and knew there was no way he would ever be able to repay him. But he also knew there was no way he could wait another day before seeing Kilgharrah. The urge was too strong, his hope and desperation too overwhelming to ignore. He needed to see the dragon.

Tonight.

So Merlin feigned a yawn and waved goodnight to Gaius as he shut the door to his small chambers. Then he waited.

It only took a little over an hour before the sound of soft snoring could be heard from the main room. With the assurance that Gaius was asleep, Merlin snuck through the chambers as quietly as possible before escaping out the door and into the night.

The cool night air caressed Merlin as he walked across the deserted courtyard, keeping to the shadows. A small smile lit his face at the familiarity of this path. He remembered many a nights sneaking out of the castle, most of the time alone, off to continue to fulfill his destiny and save a prat's life. Only a few times did he have to put up with said prat himself, Arthur's bickering and insults assaulting his ears as they escaped into the night. Although he hadn't missed sneaking off, losing sleep, and most often than not getting in trouble in the mornings, Merlin found it somewhat calming to be doing it once more. It reminded him that, even though some things had changed, there were still things that remained the same.

He was so caught up in his musings and memories as he crept out the main gate that Merlin failed to notice the silhouette of the king standing on the ramparts, watching as his servant was swallowed up into the dark forest beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some attempting-to-be-sneaky Arthur and some very-oblivious-to-his-surroundings Merlin. Ahhh that's sort of like a role reversal right there lol


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin was an idiot. This Arthur was sure of more than ever.

Who in their right mind goes wandering out into the forest at night _by themselves_ with no armor and no weapon? And after experiencing a life-changing trauma that had started with an act very similar to one Arthur was witnessing?

Merlin did apparently.

And Arthur was _not_ going to let history repeat itself. He would rather die than let that happen to his friend again. To anyone really but Merlin especially.

So that was how Arthur found himself picking his way through the underbrush of the darkened forest, trying to catch up to his servant who he strongly suspected had a death wish. Because if the young man didn't meet his end by wandering out here in the dead of night, Arthur was going to kill him himself. It seemed that being kidnapped and mutilated hadn't deterred Merlin in the slightest from wandering off by himself. And in the dead of night no less. Arthur was going to have a long serious talk to his friend about self-preservation and learned lessons once he dragged the young man back.

But from what? What was Merlin doing out here anyway? He couldn't be gathering herbs, it was the middle of the night for crying out loud. And besides, Gaius had made a point not to give Merlin that particular task again thinking the act might be a trigger. So if it wasn't herbs, then what on earth was Melin up to?

Well, this was a good time as any to find out.

Ten minutes of fast-paced but silent stalking—and really he need not have worried much about being quiet; Merlin made enough noise stomping through the forest to mask any sound—Arthur finally was able to catch a glimpse of his servant as the young man weaved carefully between trees.

Where does he think he is going?

And the way Merlin never faltered, never paused, or hesitated almost had Arthur tripping in shock as he came to a realization.

Merlin had done this before.

Wherever he was heading, whatever he was doing, Merlin had done it before. He had traveled this exact route, this exact path, to whatever destination he was heading. And Arthur had no doubt he had done it in this little of light too. No one could be this sure of their path in this darkness without having done it before.

And that understanding worried Arthur more than what was currently taking place.

What sort of secrets was Merlin hiding? For obviously his friend his hiding something. Why else sneak out of the castle to some unknown location in the middle of the night? It wasn't like Merlin had a sweetheart or anything…

Right?

Arthur wracked his brain. There was no sign in the past that Merlin was sweet on anyone, no hint in the slightest. No woman—besides Gwen—had even been to visit the young man upon his return from the slavers and surely if he had a sweetheart, she would have been to see him since his return. She would have been worried sick about him, just like the rest of them, and would have needed to see that he was alright.

But Arthur hadn't even known that his servant had been sneaking off in the night. So there was every possibility he would have missed any and all aspect of his servant's love life. Hell, he already had missed all aspects. He couldn't remember one time he _had_ ever seen or heard of Merlin being sweet on anyone.

Arthur's thoughts dissipated as the small dark shadow ahead that was his servant disappeared into a large clearing beyond. The king hesitated. If Merlin really was here to visit a sweetheart then who was Arthur to intrude upon their moment? It was personal and there was a reason Merlin had kept it a secret, so Arthur had no business spying on him. He would want Merlin to do the same for him.

But no. Arthur couldn't leave his friend out here, personal moment or not. He needed to ensure his servant was safe and returned safely. That didn't mean he had to reveal himself and drag Merlin back to Camelot just yet. He could let the young man have his moment in peace, without disturbances. And Arthur would admit, he was damn curious about all this.

Arthur reached the edge of the clearing, his footsteps slowing then stopping altogether in the shadows of the tree line where he could see but not be seen. He watched as Merlin, his back toward Arthur with his face tilted toward the sky, walked toward the middle of the moon lit clearing. A very familiar moon lit clearing.

The same clearing where Merlin, Arthur, and his knights had fought and killed the last dragon.

A chill ran down Arthur's spine at the memory. He had lost many good men that night and even more to the dragon's rage the days previously. So many lives lost, so many families destroyed.

Why did Merlin come back here, of all places?

Surely the clearing held bad memories for the young man too. After all he had been there, he had fought alongside Arthur, watched knights writhe and scream in agony as they were roasted alive, and been the only one conscious when the dragon had flown off mortally wounded and defeated. So why here?

A coincidence perhaps? It had to be.

But it didn't matter, for in the next second Arthur was torn from his musings as Merlin threw his head back and an incomprehensible garble of attempted speech was shouted to the night sky.

* * *

Merlin roared to the night, the dragon tongue coming out as nothing more than indecipherable drivel to his trained ears. Without his tongue, he seemed incapable of pronouncing and enunciating the dragon speech he so desperately hoped to, just like Gaius had warned him. But there wasn't much he could do about it. He would just have to hope that, despite the lack of pronunciation, his dragonlord inheritance would take over and Kilgharrah would hear his need. It was all he had left.

Silence fell over the clearing as he finished. Not a sound could be heard, not from the forest, not the wind, nothing. It was as if the entire world were waiting with bated breath to see if this would work, to see if a dragonlord still remained upon this earth. To see if he still held the power of his ancestors or if, like them, his too had been eradicated albeit a different way.

One minute turned into five which quickly turned into ten. And with each passing minute Merlin could feel the hope he held onto so desperately be slowly smothered under a familiar rising panic. Breathing became an arduous task and his lungs burned without the sufficient oxygen as his head spun and his heart rate picked up. The clearing jolted up suddenly as Merlin's knees buckled and he fell to his hands and knees. But he didn't notice, so caught up was he in his own panic.

This was it. His last bit of hope to regain any semblance of his previous life. To be alive again and useful and not have to endure the silence. To be able to protect Arthur and fulfill destiny and never have to see the pity and pain and overwhelming guilt in anyone's eyes as he tried so hard to live his life and make it as it was and just _be_ without the baggage he had to carry and the burden he had become but it wasn't happening it wasn't meant to be for he couldn't even call the Great Dragon anymore in order to find a solution due to the exact disability that prevented its own cure in any way it could because it had been _forced_ upon him from his own stupidity and god knows he probably deserved this, that this was destiny's way of punishing him for not having fulfilled it already, for not having done what he was put on this earth to do but he had tried he had tried so hard and this was his reward this was what he got despite the fact that Arthur was still alive that he was still on the right path but oh lords it seems destiny doesn't care, couldn't care, wouldn't care, if he has to continue on as a mute and a burden, never being able to do what he was meant to because he _can't_ anymore without control over both his magic and the dragon whose knowledge helped him get as far as he had but without both Arthur will not succeed and his best friend, his king will die Arthur will die, he will perish Arthur Arthur Arthur.

As if pulled from his own panicking thoughts, Arthur appeared before Merlin's darkening vision, hands gently but firmly resting on Merlin's shoulders in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. His face though, was laced with concern even as his mouth moved calmly but surely. But the words were not heard as Merlin's ears roared with renewed panic.

Arthur had seen. Arthur had seen him call the dragon, had seen him using his abilities and it didn't matter that it didn't work, it didn't matter that nothing had come from it because he had _seen_. And Merlin, through the panic now completely overwhelming him like never before, could only grasp onto that realization, could only understand that Arthur had seen him use a skill that was just as incriminating as magic was and surely he was here to charge him with treason, clap him in irons and drag him back to Camelot to await his execution. It was too much, it was all too much. Merlin gasped like a fish out of water as his breathing became almost non-existent until suddenly, his chest exploded with pain and his world tilted as he fell into darkness.

* * *

It was true, Arthur had seen. He had witnessed it all.

But he didn't know what he had witnessing.

He had watched as Merlin roared to the sky, obviously trying to say something but what that was remained a mystery. As with everything else the young man spoke—which he rarely did—it came out as nothing more that noises, not much different from a babe's. It was strange to say the least but clearly Merlin expected something to happen as the second he finished, he just stood there, staring at the sky, waiting.

For what, Arthur didn't know.

Minutes rolled by with no change. Arthur didn't know what to expect really, but he had thought someone would appear. A woman, or a man, or hell even a falcon or a horse to come racing into the clearing after having heard what Arthur assumed to be a call of some sort.

But nothing happened.

Arthur watched the sky as Merlin did, not quite understanding why his friend was gazing so intently at it. But he had to admit, there was a beauty up there he hadn't been able to see from within the city walls. Out here, the sky was clearer and the stars seemed to shine with pride and new life. They twinkled and danced and spoke of a world beyond their own, beyond the ground that Arthur stood upon. It was beautiful and Arthur couldn't help but smile as he stared up. Maybe this is why Merlin came out here. Maybe this wasn't a secret meeting after all. Maybe he had come out here just to vent his frustration to the night sky in peace and envision a life beyond this world. A life in the stars. It seemed like a great idea to Arthur.

Those thoughts brought Arthur back to reality and he glanced back at Merlin, eyes widening in shock and horror. Before he could even register what he was doing, Arthur was on his feet, racing out of his hiding spot and into the clearing to where his friend was now hunched over on his hands and knees gasping for breath. As he got closer Arthur could see Merlin was shaking, his chest heaving as he fought for air that wouldn't come.

At first, Arthur thought Merlin had been attacked, that in the brief minutes Arthur had taken his eyes off his friend, someone had shot him or stabbed him or...something! But as he knelt down in front of Merlin, Arthur could see no wound and the symptoms of the panic attacks he had come to recognize only too well became evident.

"Merlin," Arthur called, kneeling down in front of his friend and placing his hands on his shoulders, trying to give Merlin something to ground himself with. "Merlin look at me. You're alright Merlin, everything's alright. You're safe. You're in Camelot," Arthur soothed, the mantra having been used so often in the last few weeks that it had become second nature to the king. . "Just breathe. Like this. In. Out. Come on Merlin, in, out."

But something was wrong, something was different this time and Arthur could see it the second Merlin looked up at him. There was no vacant eyes, no haze covering them unlike every other time Merlin had had an episode. Usually he was so lost in his own mind, so caught up in the memories that he wouldn't even recognize his surroundings until after a few minutes of coaxing and calming down. But this was different. Arthur could see straight away that Merlin could see him, could recognize that Arthur was there and that the king was right in front of him.

And he wasn't calming down.

Instead, to Arthur's horror, Merlin's panic increased dramatically. Before, it had been not much worse than other panic attacks that Merlin had experienced. But now?

Once Merlin's eyes had found Arthur's, it became worse. So much worse. Merlin started gasping desperately for breath that absolutely refused to come, his shaking turning into complete convulsions as his eyes widened. And he was struggling in Arthur's grip. Struggling to get away.

"Merlin its ok, I'm not going to hurt you." But if Merlin heard him, he didn't show it. He just continued to struggle, his attempts becoming weaker with every passing second and Arthur knew the young man was on the verge of passing out. He needed to calm him down and he needed to calm him down _now_.

"Merlin, just breathe its alr—," but Arthur cut off his next words and watched in horror as Merlin's face scrunched in agony and he grasped his chest feebly with one hand. The next second Merlin's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limply to the ground.

Now it was Arthur's turn to panic.

He knew what was happening, knew what he had just witnessed. Gaius had engrained it in Arthur, made sure that Arthur understood the symptoms and signs of a heart attack since he was the one who usually took care of Merlin when he was most vulnerable to such an attack. So it was only logical that he know how to recognize and treat such an aliment to a certain degree.

But actually witnessing it happen was so much worse than the theory that it could.

With Gaius' instructions roaring in his ears, Arthur scrambled to lay Merlin flat and pulled out his knife, sticking the cool blade beneath his friend's nose. He held his breath as he waited for a sign of life from his friend. But no breath fogged the blade, no exhale whatsoever. Arthur's panic increased dramatically and he lay his head upon Merlin's chest hoping desperately to hear a heartbeat.

There was one, but faint and fading fast.

"No no no no, don't you dare die on me Merlin," Arthur demanded, scrambling back up and placing his hands together over Merlin's chest, just as Gaius had instructed.

Then he pushed down.

_You need to push down hard, in time with your heartbeats. Don't worry about hurting him, when the time comes, all that matters is keeping his heart going. Whatever damage is done in the process can be repaired._

Arthur could hear Gaius' words in his head as he pushed harder with every beat of his heart. He was terrified of hurting Merlin further, yes, but Gaius was right. All that mattered now was keeping Merlin's heart beating and to get him breathing again.

Breathing!

_You'll need to pinch his nose and breathe into his lungs in between pushing on his chest. This will help expand his lungs and help get him breathing on his own._

Without a moment's hesitation Arthur pinched Merlin's nose and blew air into his friend's lungs, before resuming pushing on his chest.

But if it did any good, it wasn't evident.

Arthur repeated the process again, his tears now mingling with the sweat that had dried on Merlin's cooling body.

"No. Merlin...you...cannot…DIE," Arthur begged, each word followed by a push to Merlin's chest. With the final word, he put all the force he could muster into the action. A sharp crack rent the air followed immediately by a gasp and a very painful sounding cough as Merlin drew breath.

"Merlin!" After a few painful coughs, Merlin open his pain-filled eyes to slits and blearily looked around, not seeming to have heard Arthur's cry. "Merlin can you hear me?"

Merlin gave a miniscule nod, eyes still roaming around unseeing. Finally, his gaze found Arthur's but before the king could say a thing more, Merlin had passed out again.

Arthur cursed, thinking the worst as he scrambled for his blade again to check Merlin's breathing. He let out a sigh of relief as a shallow exhale fogged up the blade ever so slightly. His breathing was not nearly what it should be but it was there at that was what mattered. Merlin was alive.

But he knew he still needed to get his friend to Gaius and fast. There was no telling what damage had been done—Arthur was sure he had at least broken on of Merlin's ribs if that crack he heard was anything to go by—and could still be done without treatment.

So without further delay, Arthur quickly but gently gathered Merlin up into his arms—mindful to keep his legs still slightly above his heart—and hastened back to Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* oh no! I wonder what's gonna happen next


	12. Chapter 12

Despite what Merlin thought, Kilgharrah had heard his call.

It hadn't been the butchered words that he had understood. No, it was the overall intent and desire that flowed to and through him in the form of pure dragonlord magic. He felt within the power the warlock's cry for help, the desperation, and pain he'd endured and continued to endure and it saddened the dragon's heart greatly.

But there had been no way to communicate with the warlock.

It wasn't until few leagues from the clearing that Kilgharrah could feel the Once and Future King's presence hiding in the shadows. But the timing was all wrong. Kilgharrah could feel it. The king was not meant to discover the warlock's secret just yet. Destiny decreed it.

But Kilgharrah could feel the rising panic through the link to the warlock that had formed with the close proximity. He tried to calm the warlock, to tell the young man through their mental link that he had heard, he was here and just unable to show himself.

But the warlock's mind was too far gone for him to hear the reassurances.

There was nothing Kilgharrah could do.

So he watched from above as the Once and Future King himself panicked as the warlock's heart gave out, did everything he could to revive him, and then carried the warlock away and back toward Camelot. Kilgharrah knew his warlock was in good hands.

But the Great Dragon knew that even if he had been able to converse with the warlock, he would not be able to tell him what he wanted to hear. The warlock needed his tongue back, complete and whole, not just some replacement spell. The latter would just lead back to the despair he was feeling now. And, despite all the knowledge, power, and magic in the world, this was one problem that Kilgharrah had no solution to.

The warlock would never speak again.

With a last look at the future of Albion as they disappeared into the forest, Kilgharrah turned back toward his cave, sending a final message over the quickly fading link in the hopes that the warlock would hear it somehow.

_Do not despair, young warlock. All is not yet lost. Destiny still has great plans for you._

* * *

_All is not yet lost. Destiny still has great plans for you._

The words rolled through Merlin's head as he slowly awoke, peering out through lidded eyes at the space beyond. Immediately, he recognized his chambers, the early morning sun bathing it in an ethereal glow. It was a new day, a beautiful day if the sun was anything to go by and Merlin wanted nothing more than to have a lie in. But he knew he couldn't. His royal pratness would never let him.

With a mental groan, Merlin made to get up and found that he was weaker than a newborn kitten. He barely made it to a half-sitting half-sprawled position before his energy flagged. His sleep-addled brain didn't even think to be worried with how often this happened to him due to all the night-time escapades and injuries he tended to sustain all in the name of destiny. It was more of a nuisance than a concern really.

"Gaius," Merlin called groggily to the room beyond. But he must have been less awake than he thought for the call sounded no better than a jumble of noises to his ears. He cleared his throat before trying again, but although it was slightly louder, the noises remained unchanged and completely incomprehensible.

Merlin frowned, worry beginning to creep into his mind. And with the worry, his mind became more aware, more awake.

Suddenly, a flood of memories overwhelmed him, causing him to gasp aloud with their intensity just as his door opened, revealing a tired and aged Gaius. The physician gave Merlin a strained smile upon entering, a cup in one hand and a vial of some concoction in the other.

But Merlin was too busy reliving the past to take notice. Images, thoughts, feelings, conversations—all one sided of course—it all flew by in an instant leaving Merlin completely breathless.

"Merlin?" He could hear his guardian's voice, calling to him calmly but with a hint of concern. But it was as though Merlin were underwater, unable to focus on the voice, on his surroundings, on anything but the events of the last few months that surrounded him completely. Especially the events of last night. Although he knew now that Arthur hadn't in fact seen anything incriminating, it still didn't lessen his anxiety any. The fear that Arthur knew about his secret still lingered like an echo through his mind. But as Merlin's thoughts continued to swirl, that irrelevant fear was quickly overshadowed. He was soon too busy processing everything, too busy coming to the realization that all hope was truly and undeniably lost.

The words he awoke with in his head once more repeated themselves in a valiant effort to keep hope alive but they were pushed aside and forgotten as the despair crept in. Destiny betrayed him, tossed him to the wolves with no weapon and demand he fight. But he couldn't, he couldn't do anything. He couldn't control his magic, he couldn't even call the Great Dragon. He wouldn't be able to protect Arthur like this, wouldn't be able to do anything but be a useless mute servant, and a poor one at that. Nothing but a burden and a hinderance.

"Merlin? Merlin, look at me please." The words were spoken softly but with a commanding tone that broke through Merlin's spiraling thoughts, bringing him back to the present. It wasn't until he tried to clear his vision that he realized he was crying, silent tears streaming down his face and staining the nightshirt he didn't remember putting on. But he didn't bother to brush them away, didn't bother to do anything but relax the death grip he now noticed he had on the blanket puddled around his hips.

A gentle but firm touch under his chin silently coaxed his head out of its bowed position, urging Merlin to obey his guardian's command. And despite his desire to disobey, to not want Gaius to see him this way, he consented. There was no longer any point resisting the inevitable. What would happen, was going to happen and there was nothing Merlin could do to prevent it anymore. This was just the start.

Gaius' eyes bore into Merlin's, searching for what Merlin didn't know. "It's alright Merlin. Everything's going to be alright. You're safe."

But Merlin couldn't bring himself to believe his guardian's words. Everything was so very far from alright.

"Do you know where you are?" Merlin nodded absent-mindedly.

Gaius nodded in return, his face relaxing ever so slightly. "Do you know how you got here?"

Merlin made to nod automatically, but hesitated before realizing that although he remembered what happened last night, he didn't actually remember leaving the forest. A small spark of fear shot through his mind at the reminder of Arthur being there, seeing him attempt to call the dragon. The dragon that he had been unable to call for the same reason he desired to call him. His inherited gift was gone—both of them really—and now just as useless as he was. Destiny was just playing with him now. Nothing more than a cat worrying a mouse, waiting patiently until the mouse lost the energy to fight and gave in to the inevitable. It was no use anymore.

"Merlin?" Gaius said quietly, snapping Merlin out of his thoughts. He focused as best he could on his guardian before realizing he had never answered Gaius' question.

He slowly shook his head.

"Arthur brought you back last night after following you out into the forest," Gaius gave Merlin a pointed look that Merlin didn't care to figure out the meaning behind. "He said you had another episode, this one so severe that it led to a heart attack. It's only lucky that I thought to teach him what to do should such an event occur or else I fear you would not be here now. He saved your life, Merlin."

Merlin sat there frozen for a second, mind whirling once more. That explained the shooting pain that he remembered feeling before waking up here just a few minutes ago. And Arthur had saved him. Arthur had been there, followed him from Camelot, unknowingly seen treachery in the works, and saved his life. But despite making him feel better, the knowledge just caused the despair to sink in that much further.

Arthur had risked his own life, sneaking out after his useless servant in the dead of night. Any number of things could have happened to the king and it was all Merlin's fault. He was the reason Arthur had left the safety of the castle walking into the forest after his wayward servant. If Merlin needed any more proof that he was indeed nothing more than a burden, that was it.

Everyone would just be better off without him. He didn't make a difference anymore, no longer able to defend and protect. So why was he still here? Why did he still fight to hold on?

"Merlin, can you tell me what happened out there?" Gaius' eyes implored as he held out a piece of parchment and charcoal. But Merlin made no move to grab either, instead just shook his head and averted his gaze as more tears fell unbidden.

The sound of shuffling paper told Merlin that Gaius had given up getting an explanation. For now at least. But then a cup came into his line of sight.

"Here, drink this. It's just water. I have a tonic for you also but it can wait a little until you get your bearings," Gaius said. Merlin again made no move to accept the offering and instead opted to stare down at the blanket over his lap. The events of last night were on repeat in his head, the fear, despair, hopelessness all shrouding his mind.

Useless. A burden. Nothing.

"Please Merlin. You're dehydrated, I have no doubt." But Merlin didn't move. He didn't want to do anything, no longer had the energy to do anything. Why should he? What was the point?

When the cup was only brought closer, the edge of it resting against his lips, Merlin relented, not having the energy to resist and knowing Gaius' wouldn't give up so easily. He opened his mouth in invitation, feeling the cup tip and the cool liquid slide down his throat as Gaius pressed up on the bone under his chin to help him swallow. Water was still the most difficult to consume without choking but it sometimes couldn't be helped. There was only so far a fruit paste could hydrate a body, Gaius had told him. And right now, Merlin couldn't really seem to care all that much if he choked or not. It was probably better for everyone if he did.

Though he knew his throat was dry and raw, Merlin hardly felt the water soothing it. He hardly felt anything at all, body numb and mind filled as his thoughts finally settled. The once swirling mass of memories and emotions had now morphed into nothing more than a dark cloud that dimmed his surroundings and fogged his mind. It surrounded him, consuming and clouding everything else until all that was left was darkness and despair.

* * *

"Is there any change?" Arthur asked hopefully as he entered the physician's chambers, Gwaine not far behind, and glanced toward Merlin's closed door. But from the look on Gaius' face, Arthur knew the answer already.

Gaius, puttering about the workbench brewing up what looked to be a sleeping draught, sighed before morosely shaking his head and confirming Arthur's suspicions.

One week. It had been one week since Arthur had come barreling into the physician's quarters in the dead of night, an unconscious Merlin cradled in his arms. Arthur had been so worried, studying Merlin continuously to ensure the rise and fall of his friend's chest wasn't just an illusion as he raced through the forest toward Camelot. And then from there he had been at Gaius' beck and call as the old man fussed over his ward. He didn't remember most of it really, everything blurring together as he went through the motions.

And the next thing he knew, Gaius was helping him to lie down on the cot in the main room—Merlin having been laid on his own upon entering—and urging him to get some rest, that he would watch over Merlin while Arthur did so. Though he had wanted to protest, Arthur could already feel the pull of sleep and before he knew it, he was waking hours later to the sound of Merlin's door closing and Gaius coming down into the main room.

But the news the physician had to give was not entirely good. He had reported that Merlin was clearly tired and weak but had recovered well and was awake. Then, he went on to state that for some reason, Merlin had retreated within himself soon after waking, becoming completely unresponsive.

"What happened, sire?" Gaius had asked then. Arthur had already told the old man that he had followed Merlin and been there when the young man had an episode and heart attack. But he hadn't been able to give the details leading up to the attack, too busy ensuring that Merlin was alright and would survive the night.

So he quickly explained all that had occurred that night.

Afterwards Gaius' face seemed to show more sorrow than it had before, as though he understood exactly what had transpired the night before. And when Arthur questioned him about it, a mask of poorly constructed uncertainty fell across the physician's face as he denied knowing the reason behind Merlin's current state.

Arthur didn't believe it for a second.

But that was soon forgotten as Arthur went up to Merlin's chambers and saw the young man for himself. At first, he thought the servant was asleep, his body curled under the blanket and still except for the steady rise and fall with every breath. But as he moved around the bed, he noticed the Merlin's eyes were open, staring unseeing at the wall. And no matter how many times Arthur called his name or tried to talk to him, Merlin didn't move. He didn't respond at all. He just remained as he was, staring at the wall, eyes glassy and clouded, mind shutting out the world.

Something had broken in Merlin, something that had caused him to retreat inside himself. And nothing Arthur did could bring him out. He was there in body alone. Just a shell.

It was like his father all over again.

It had been that way for a week now, with Merlin getting steadily worse with each passing day. They couldn't get him to eat, could barely get him to drink, and had no success getting any response from the young man at all. He would just lie there, never leaving his chambers, staring at nothing with a vacant expression upon his face.

Today it seemed was no different.

Gwaine cursed at Gaius' response, slamming his fist into the wall in frustration. Arthur wanted to do the same. He wanted to rage and scream and plead at the world. But he refrained. For the time being.

"I can't do this Gaius. I can't sit by and watch him wither away to nothing. There has to be _something_ we can do!" Arthur begged, needing something, anything to do to make this right. To bring Merlin back.

"I'm afraid there's very little we can do, sire," Gaius declared, trying to keep his expression and tone professional. But he was slipping, Arthur could see it in his eyes. The old man was taking this just as hard as Arthur. "I've tried talking to him, pleading with him, assuring him, but nothing changes. He still refuses to eat or even acknowledge my presence. I don't even think he's been sleeping much."

Arthur cursed in frustration. "We could just force him."

Gaius looked up at Arthur, a scowl upon his face just as Gwaine shot him a glare. "Do you really think after all that—"

"I _know_ , Gwaine," he growled, interrupting the knight before the man could reprimand him. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath before continuing, this time his words directed at Gaius. "I know we can't. Not after...everything. But I just. I can't, Gaius. I can't do this," he admitted, voice breaking at the end. But at the moment, he couldn't be bothered to care. He needed Merlin, more than the young man knew and more than he was ever willing to admit. But it was true. Arthur didn't know what he would do without the bumbling servant. He would rather have the angry Merlin who ignored him than the shell that now resided in that room. At least when he had been angry, he had been _alive_ , had been living life, walking, eating, sleeping. Now, not so much.

And Arthur didn't know _why_.

Yes, Merlin had been depressed some days before all this, seeming to withdraw into himself, but he had always bounced back, usually after Arthur had subtly reminded him that he wasn't alone, that everything was alright. Cracking jokes and flipping insults as though nothing had changed.

But now…

Something had happened that night, something that caused Merlin to give up. Gaius knew something about it, but every time Arthur tried to get an answer, the old man denied knowing anything. So, Arthur reasoned that whatever the physician knew, it was of little or no help in reviving Merlin.

Then again, nothing else seemed to be either.

It had just happened so fast. Merlin had spiraled so quickly that Arthur had had no time to try and dig him back out. Now it seemed he was too far gone, falling further into the darkness with each day.

And he was unknowingly dragging Arthur down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for not letting up on all the hurt but in order to do that I would have to feel some remorse, which I don't.


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur sat slumped at his place at the round table, trying hard to not show the weariness his felt down to his bones. Merlin wasn't getting any better. In fact, he was looking no better than a corpse lately, deathly pale and shockingly thin. Not to mention the unmoving sightless eyes that constantly stared at the wall. It was….unnerving to say the least.

And Arthur felt so undeniably helpless. Nothing he did made any difference. He tried talking calmly, like he had when bringing Merlin down from one of his panic attack (he would trade the panic attacks for this shell of a man in a heartbeat), yelling, screaming, raging, threatening, ordering, and even once hitting, though he was not proud of that and vowed to never do it again. But it was no use. Nothing seemed to knock Merlin from his state. All they could do was keep trying and watch as their friend slowly withered away as their failures piled up.

"Arthur?" Gwen's voice, soft and calm broke Arthur from his thoughts as she placed a comforting hand upon his own. He looked up from where he had been staring at the Pendragon crest in the center of the round table, finally taking notice of the many eyes staring back at him. There was a mixture of pity and sadness upon most of the council's faces as well as concern and, from a few of the older council members, indignation. It was clear they did not approve of Arthur's behavior and concern toward a simple _servant_. But Merlin was much more than just a servant. He was a dear friend and a trusted advisor. And if the young man ever pulled himself out of the dark recesses of his mind, Arthur was going to ensure that he and the entire council knew that. It was high time Merlin's standing in his court was raised. But that was for another time, preferably one where Merlin was there to witness it.

"Perhaps we should postpone the council's decision on his matter until his majesty is feeling better?" one of the older councilmen suggested, his voice respectful but his eyes betraying the annoyance he felt at Arthur's continued lacked of focus.

Arthur sighed, raking a heavy hand through his hair before saying, "No. Now is as good a time as any." It wasn't like he was going to get any better. If anything, the way things were going, it was better to do more now than later seeing a he would be in no fit state to make decisions let alone run this kingdom when Merlin passed.

Arthur very quickly and firmly squashed down that thought the second it arose. He could _not_ think like that, not now, not ever. He needed to stay strong, if not just for himself but for Gwen and the knights and his people. Merlin would be alright, he would. He was strong and was no doubt fighting his way to the surface even now. He just...got a little lost on the way. It was typical Merlin, really.

A muffled sound from the corridor outside the council chambers grabbed Arthur's and everyone's attention as heads whipped toward the doors. Another sound from beyond the door—louder followed by a grunt—had Arthur and the rest of the knights on their feet with their swords out. Something was happening, that much was certain. But whether it was an attack on his kingdom or merely a clumsy guard having run into a an unsuspecting servant, he didn't know.

He didn't have to wait long though to find out.

For not a minute later, the council doors burst open with enough force to warn Arthur exactly what it was they was dealing with here.

Magic.

But it didn't matter. None of the training nor the knowledge that Arthur possessed mattered. In less than a second, his knights were all thrown backward, bodies hitting the columns and walls that lined the edge of the chambers and remaining fixed there. Morgana appeared in at the entrance, one hand outstretched and customary smirk etched upon her face.

"Hello dear brother."

Arthur opened his mouth to demand the reason behind her appearance in his kingdom—although he was certain he already knew—but Morgana continued before he could utter a single word.

"No, don't talk. I've got very little time and I don't plan to waste it hearing you prattle on. I don't care much for what you have to say anyway," she stated as her eyes bore into Arthur's own. He could see it there in their depths the pain, the heartbreak, the disgust and the overwhelming hatred that had consumed the once kind and selfless girl he knew. He understood her intentions. And there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

The round table stood traitorously between Arthur and the woman who had sworn to kill him, preventing any attack on his part. A hand grabbed his own, the touch soft but oh so comforting as he faced his death head on. He glanced over at Gwen, the defiance and strength in her eyes overpowering the fear that lingered beneath. With Gwen here by his side he could be strong. The two rulers of Camelot, facing death together.

It was then that realization hit Arthur. At the moment, his was not the only life on the line.

Arthur's eyes widened in alarm before hardening in determination. He knew what he had to do. If he could give the kingdom of Camelot at least a chance at avoiding a complete take-over, then he would. And for that to happen, one ruler needed to live.

If he was correct in his assumption, time might be on his side for once.

Morgana began to chant, a string of foreign words spewing from her mouth like poison just as Arthur pulled away from Gwen much to the queen's alarm. But he had to distance himself from her. He had to draw Morgana's attention toward him and only him. If his assumptions were correct—which he assumed they were by the shouts and sounds of clanking metal he could hear approaching the council chambers over his sister's chanting—she wouldn't be able to stick around for long after completing this spell. For despite her immense power, even she could be overpowered by numbers, especially after a draining spell. Gaius had taught Arthur that much.

By the time Morgana ended her spell, Arthur was half-way around the table and closing in on her. He knew he would never get close enough to strike her but his sword was still drawn, his determination unwavering. At least this way he was giving the rest of his people, his knights, his queen, and his...friend a fighting chance.

It was with that final thought of Merlin that a cloud of ink black magic rushed forth from his sister's outstretched hand and slammed into Arthur's chest. He staggered back with the force, his balance completely lost as pain ripped through his body and he began to tip backwards. Screams and shouts rented the air and the last thing he saw was guards streaming into the chambers as Morgana laughed and disappeared in a whirlwind.

He was unconscious before he hit the unyielding floor.

* * *

A burst of magic washed through Merlin, giving his consciousness the jolt it needed to come back into being.

All around him was darkness, utter darkness, no thoughts, no feelings, no...nothing. He couldn't feel his body, knowing somehow that he was still trapped inside his own mind, but he felt more aware than before. He had felt the disturbance, felt the wave of magic, powerful magic, wash through him from somewhere. Where that would be, he didn't know. He didn't even know where in his mind he was exactly let alone where his physical body was.

The darkness was overwhelming. He could barely make out the outline of his hand when he held it up in front of his face, but he could tell the dark was slowly receding.

He didn't know how much time passed before the darkness retreated enough for memories and thoughts to make their way back to him. It felt like days before he remembered what had occurred last but it must have been no more than a few hours. Time was slowly becoming more and more realistic.

He knew where he was now and knew he needed to wake up. Something wasn't right.

It was as that thought came into existence that Merlin became aware of his own body outside his mind and a voice broke through.

— _Albion will be lost forever. Young warlock you must fight this! The Once and Future King needs you._

The words raged through Merlin's head, the urgency and desperation not entirely lost on him but completely unexpected. Though that fact was ignored as he suddenly recognized exactly who was trying to communicate with him.

_Kilgharrah?_ Merlin asked over the mental link, drawing himself more and more from his own clouded mind and into his body. As he did so, aches and pains made themselves known with vengeance, as though they had built up during the time he had struggled to awaken.

_Young warlock—_

Merlin interrupted the dragon, a sense of panic starting to arise, _What's go_ —

_There is no time! The Once and Future King's life hangs by a thread. It is imperative that he live, young warlock, or I fear for the future of us all. You must go now!_

Arthur was in danger? Arthur was dying? But how? What happened? Merlin's head spun with the rush of questions causing a pounding headache to take residence within his skull. Or maybe it had been there from the start. Actually come to think of it, Merlin didn't feel all that well. His whole body felt empty and hollow, his limbs heavier than a horse not to mention the numerous pains throughout. And he could feel fatigue clawing at him, wanting nothing more than to settle into his very being and rock him back into the darkness until he never awoke again. He was very tempted to let it.

But he couldn't. Arthur needed him. Arthur was dying.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than Merlin deflated.

_But I...I can't…_

_You must. NOW!_

Instinct took over then, spawned from the extreme urgency Merlin felt emancipating from Kilgharrah through their mental link. Never had he felt such desperation from the dragon, it was more than worrisome and was _not_ to be ignored. It was overpowering and he felt the need to move, to act, to do something like it had been ingrained in him since birth. Which it probably had.

It was that same instinct that told Merlin where he needed to go. And fast.

But the second Merlin stood up he collapsed onto the floor, his legs having buckled beneath him. It was then that he really took stock of himself. He was thin, too thin, practically emaciated, swimming in his night shirt and trousers. No wonder he felt so horrible. He was half dead.

But no more thought was wasted on the whys and the hows as Merlin gathered up all his strength and got to his feet once more. His legs were shaky and weak but they held his weight well enough—probably due more to sheer will and magic than anything else—that Merlin hoped he would be able to make it to Arthur's chambers in one piece. He'd get there, even if it killed him.

It was slow going, but after the first few shaky stumbling steps and almost collapsing again, Merlin was able to walk without too much trouble. His legs were still trembling with the strain—in fact his whole body was—but once he got a pace going, he was staggering out the door and down the corridor as quickly as he possibly could.

He knew the control he had on his magic was extremely unreliant and he knew his aptitude for healing magic was equivalent to Arthur's ability to dress himself, but it didn't matter. From what Kilgharrah had said, it was either try or let Arthur die. And the latter was never an option.

As he stumbled down toward the king's quarters Merlin had to focus entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. If Kilgharrah was talking to him, he wasn't listening. If he passed anyone in the corridor, they went unnoticed. It took all his concentration to just keep moving, to keep walking toward his destination, toward Arthur.

Merlin didn't even hesitate when he came to Arthur's door, knowing that if he slowed his pace even a little he wouldn't be able to continue on. So he burst through the door without breaking stride.

The chambers beyond were dark, the only light source being the flames crackling happily in the fireplace and a few meager candles upon various surfaces by the bed. The hunched form of Gaius could be seen by the far side of the bed, hands busy mixing some sort of concoction. Gwen too was present, her frame also hunched and curled up where she sat in a chair pulled up flush with the bed, deep in exhausted sleep.

But Merlin didn't pay the others any attention. His eyes immediately latched onto Arthur's unmoving form—partly obscured by blankets and sheets—as he approached the bed. He ignored Gaius' exclamation of "Merlin? What are you doing here?" and maneuvered himself in front of the old physician to stand directly beside his king's body.

Arthur was pale, sweat soaking his face and hair as he lay completely unmoving upon the bed. If Merlin didn't know any better, he would have thought Arthur had already passed on. But he hadn't, he was still here alive and breathing and that's what mattered. Arthur was all that mattered. He couldn't die, Melin wouldn't let him. He would give his life a thousand times over just to ensure that Arthur kept breathing, kept living. The Once and Future King, the ruler of Albion, his friend, his brother in all but blood.

This was it, the moment of truth. Desperation and instinct had worked to help channel his magic in the past without the use of incantations but ever since he had returned from the slavers, that ability had diminished. He had been so determined, so entirely desperate for a cure to his disability ever since his return but his magic hadn't seemed to understand that. It hadn't worked the same way it had before and he didn't know why.

But none of that mattered now. Destiny was at stake, the future of Albion was at stake, but most importantly Arthur's life was at stake. He had to hope that this time, it would work, that this time it would be enough. It was all or nothing now. He was desperate and he was beyond determined to ensure that his king's heart beat and continued to beat for years to come. Even if Merlin himself never lived to see it.

Which he knew was a very real possibility, especially now.

Merlin placed his hands, one over the other over Arthur's chest. He could feel a darkness, a curse of the deadliest kind flowing through the king's veins and his own magic roared up in reaction. It rushed through his own veins toward the source of the curse, warm and comforting and more tenacious as it filled him up than he had ever felt it before.

And then he let it go.

The flood of magic surged out of Merlin's hands and straight into Arthur's chest. He could feel it leave his body, feel the pain and fatigue swoop up to take its place as the last vestiges of his energy flowed into his king. But he remained as he was, letting the magic flow unhindered despite the threat such an act put upon himself. He knew his magic had kept him going this long, knew that his body would not be able to handle all the strain he was putting it through, especially after this.

But it didn't matter. Arthur was more important. More important than anything, especially his own life.

That thought ran through Merlin's head as his magic flow ebbed and then ceased altogether as it ran dry. The fatigue quickly rushed in to claim him, causing his knees to buckle and the world to tilt on its axis.

Then he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! Woot woot!


	14. Chapter 14

The first thing he noticed upon returning to awareness was that he is very much not dead.

Or, at least he hoped so because if this was what it felt like in the Avalon or wherever it was that souls journey to once death claimed them, the rumors and beliefs were way off the mark. His body ached, as if he had been beaten until he was black and blue. Except the ache was deeper, more internal than external even though he had yet to open his eyes to confirm this theory.

Which, now that he thought about it, he should probably get to, if for no other reason than to ensure he really was in fact alive.

It was with that thought that he opened his eyes, some effort having to be exercised in order to do so but he did it nonetheless. And he realized that something big must have happened to leave him unable to even open his eyes without strain, but that thought was for another time. For all he could focus on was the increasingly familiar room coming into focus before his eyes and the very familiar face looming over him.

"Arthur?"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, finding his throat drier than the sand in the desert. "Gwen," was all he managed to croak out, the name barely audible and no more than a whisper.

"Oh thank god," she responded, tears forming in her eyes and a watery smile spreading across her face. When he tried to talk again, producing no more than a whispered jumble, she snapped out of her relief and disappeared from view with a, "Hold on, let me get you some water."

She returned quickly, cup in hand, and helped him sit up slightly and drink. The water was cool and crisp as it soothed his parched throat and he soon found himself draining the whole cup in one breath.

"Whoa, easy there. You have to take it slow or your body may not accept it very well. Gaius said you would probably be a little weak when you woke." She took the cup away, placing it on the side table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and grabbing his hand and holding it gently.

"Wha—what happened?" he asked, relieved that his voice sounded much stronger than before. He hated sounding weak. Hell, he hated feeling weak. But even now, he could feel his strength returning slowly but surely as his mind awoke further.

Gwen frowned down at him, confusion and fear washing over her features in an instant. "You don't remember?"

Arthur paused for a second, searching through his memories. "Its a bit fuzzy to be honest."

"Well, what do you remember?"

Arthur thought for a second. "You, and the council and a...black...cloud?" He scrunched up his face in confusion. That didn't make sense but it was one of the few things he could remember, though he couldn't say where it came from. Suddenly an image of Morgana, hair in disarray and wearing a dress as black as night, flashed across his mind. "Morgana!" he gasped, sitting up faster than his brain could handle. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he groaned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands until it passed.

"Arthur, relax. She's gone," Gwen reassured, running a hand up and down his back in a soothing gesture. "She disappeared not long after she hit you with...well, with whatever it was." She paused and when she spoke next, her voice was laced with concern and fear, "She nearly killed you."

Arthur looked up at Gwen, everything that had happened—minutes ago? Hours? Days?—suddenly coming back to him. "How…?" But he couldn't bring himself to finish the question, a funny feeling washing over him as he pondered the answer.

But Gwen seemed to get the gist of it. "Gaius, of course. I don't know how. You were taking a turn for the worst and he was sure you weren't going to make it. He said there was nothing that he could do for you. I must have dozed off at some point—we were in here for hours following the attack trying everything and anything—and when I awoke, Gaius was gone but you were breathing easier and," she paused, tears swimming in her eyes, "oh ,Arthur when he came back in and told me that you were going to be alright, I just…" she trailed off, throat choked with emotion.

Arthur squeezed Gwen's hand in reassurance. "I understand Gwen. I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm just glad you're alright." Then a serious look clouded Gwen's face and the next thing Arthur knew she had smacked him lightly on the shoulder, the ache there magnifying the blow so it felt more like a sharp jab. "Don't you ever do that to me again Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur winced, rubbing his shoulder, but nodded to her, knowing she wasn't only referring to his recent brush with death but also his last ditch effort to keep her safe in the midst of the attack. He understood. He too hated it when anyone sacrificed themselves for him.

"Where is Gaius?" he asked suddenly, realizing the physician was not in the room.

"Well I suspect he's with Merlin." And suddenly it was like she couldn't look at Arthur, couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Fear stabbed through Arthur like ice, freezing his veins.

"Gwen, what—what happened?"

"Merlin, he's—while you began to recover, Merlin...it seems he deteriorated rapidly. I don't—I don't understand what happened but Gaius has been there all night, except for the few minutes he took to come and check up on you. He didn't tell me much only that Merlin collapsed and he hasn't been able to wake him."

"Collapsed?" Arthur sat up straighter then, worry shooting through his every fiber. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the aches as he made to stand. "What do you mean collapsed? He hasn't left his bed?"

"Well, I don't know Arthur," Gwen said, not making any move or protest about Arthur's sudden desire to leave the confines of the bed, only steadying him as he stood shakily. And Arthur felt his heart swell with love for this woman. This woman who knew what he needed, what he wanted and would help and support him. She knew he needed to see Merlin, needed to see him for his own eyes and instead of trying to keep him in bed and therefore causing his anxiety to soar, she opted to help him, relieving him of the unnecessary stress his worry and concern for his friend would cause. He really didn't deserve her.

Gwen continued, "Gaius didn't say much beyond that. I have been here looking after you, so my knowledge is limited."

"I need to see him," Arthur stated, feeling the need to voice his intentions out loud despite the fact that his actions had already made that point obvious. He took a few steps, the aches still there but dulling with every movement as his strength increased. Gwen stayed beside him, keeping a firm grasp on his forearm to keep him steady as they made their way toward the door, proper clothing be damned.

"I know," was all she said in response.

* * *

"Gaius?" Arthur called into the room as they entered the physician's chambers, Gwen still giving him firm support at his side with a steadying hand though he was pretty sure he could manage on his own now.

Gaius appeared at the top of the stairs leading to Merlin's quarters, confusion and exasperation written upon his face. "Sire what are you doing here? You shouldn't be up, you've been through quite an ordeal." The old physician made his way down the stairs toward Arthur, gesturing for him to take a seat on the cot in the main room.

Arthur just waved off the physician's insistence, opting to instead gaze over at Merlin's open door as if he could glean answers just by staring at the dark interior. "What happened Gaius? Is Merlin alright?"

Gaius sighed long and hard, a weight seeming to settle firmly upon his shoulders. "He's unconscious sire. Has been for a little while now and nothing seems to be able to wake him."

Arthur didn't wait for further explanation, breaking away from Gwen's grasp and stumbling up the stairs and into Merlin's chambers. And there lay the source of all his worries lately, lying under a pile of blankets seemingly dead to the world. From what Arthur could see of it, Merlin's skin was pale and waxen, almost translucent, his eyes sunken as if the dark bags underneath were physically weighing him down. If it weren't for the miniscule motion of his friend's chest—indicating that he was in fact still breathing—Arthur would have thought him to be dead.

"But what happened?" Arthur asked, tearing his eyes away from Merlin to look imploringly at Gaius who had followed him into the small room. "Gwen said that you mentioned he had collapsed?"

Gaius hesitated, as if trying to decide what exactly he was going to tell the king. Arthur didn't like it one bit. What was Gaius hiding? Why did he feel the need to hide it in the first place?

"He did, sire. He, uh," Gaius paused briefly before continuing on, "came to your chambers earlier—don't ask me how or why for that is even a mystery to me—and soon after arriving it seems the exertion caught up to him and his body gave out." Worry was clearly etched upon Gaius face, worry the likes of which Arthur had never seen. And it scared the hell out of him. "I had some guards bring him back here and he's been like this ever since."

"How long ago did this occur?"

"An hour or so, sire."

Arthur stared back down at Merlin. The young servant hadn't so much as moved from his bed in a week, unresponsive, not eating and barely sleeping. So what had changed? What had driven Merlin to finally leave the physician's chambers, leave his bed even, to come to Arthur's chambers? There was no way he could have known about the attack—Gwen had said that both her and Gaius had been by Arthur's side since the attack with Gaius only leaving once Merlin had arrived and collapsed. So what had finally broken the servant's trance?

"What drew him out? Why did he come to my chambers?" Arthur asked aloud, glancing at Gaius as he frowned in confusion.

There it was again, the flash of...something in Gaius' face that told Arthur the old physician knew more than he was letting on. "I do not know sire. I never got the chance to ask him myself." Arthur's frown deepened but again, he did not question the physician knowing from past experiences that it would get him no where.

"There is every possibility that he may never awaken, sire," Gaius continued, looking at Merlin's prone form with sorrow.

Arthur suddenly felt light headed. He swayed, feeling Gwen come up beside him and suddenly he was being eased into a chair by Merlin's bedside.

"What? Are...are you sure?" Arthur questioned. "Merlin is...strong." The end of the statement came out with a little less confidence than Arthur had planned. But after the past week, Arthur's confidence in Merlin's own strength, a strength he had witnessed himself on more than one occasion, had wavered.

Gaius nodded. "I just—I just want you to be prepared sire."

Arthur nodded numbly. There was a very real chance that he was never going to see Merlin bumbling around his chambers again. Never see him grin in his cheeky way, never see Merlin look at him as though Arthur hung the moon and commanded the sun. Never even see those cerulean blue eyes filled with loyalty and devotion. Hell, he would take the hatred and betrayal he had seen not too long ago within their depths if it meant that Merlin would just hold on, would just awaken. Granted, losing Merlin had been a possibility ever since they had returned him from the slavers but for some reason, this was different. Arthur felt like if he had just tried a little harder, done more in the way of Merlin, the young servant would not be in this position. He had completely and irrevocably failed his friend.

"I don't think I will ever be prepared Gaius," he muttered, looking back at Merlin. Suddenly a feeling of determination washed over him. Merlin would never give up on Arthur, especially when the outcome looked ever so bleak. So why the hell was Arthur so ready to give up on him?

"I'm not," he whispered to himself, face hardening with resolve. When he spoke again it was to the room at large, "I won't ever be prepared to let him go. Not now, not ever." The spark of determination grew into an inferno with the voiced declaration and Arthur knew right then and there that no matter how much he claimed everything he did was for his people, for the good of Camelot, he knew it was only a partial truth. He did it for Merlin, to be the man Merlin believed he was, to be able to live up to his friend's expectations.

And he didn't even want to know what he would be like without Merlin. Nor did he plan on finding out. Ever.

Arthur turned to Gaius then, noticing the physician's alarm at seeing the look of pure determination that was upon set upon the king's face. "Do everything you can Gaius. I mean _everything_."

"Sire there isn't—," Gaius cut off as his eyes widened as he no doubt understood Arthur's implication. But then to Arthur's alarm, his eyes turned sorrowful again and he sighed. "I'm afraid, sire, that even magic is useless in this situation."

Arthur stared at Gaius in disbelief. "What?"

Gaius shook his head in resignation. "This is not a simple malady nor is it a physical injury," he explained professionally though Arthur could see it was a struggle to keep himself together. "Merlin's body is just shutting down out of pure exhaustion and lack of nutrition. I was able to get some nutrients back into his body with certain potions and broths but without him conscious, I'm afraid he will continue to waste away. And magic can only help a person so far. This is of Merlin's own making and it is up to Merlin whether he wishes to live or not."

"So that's it then? That's truly it?" Arthur exclaimed, his voice rising with each word as anger—fueled by helplessness—got the better of him. "We're back where we started?"

Gaius nodded reluctantly. "Only time will tell, sire."

Arthur hated that saying. Hated everything about this whole situation. The one time, the one person, he was willing to break his father's law for and it would make no difference. "Why do you have to be such an idiot Merlin?" he whispered to the young man on the bed. He half expected Merlin to respond and the silence that he got in return only angered him more. This was not how it was supposed to be. Magic was supposed to be able to do great and terrible things and yet, when he needed it most, when he asked for it, it failed him. How could it be so heartless?

Arthur sighed. Seemed only fitting that magic should fail him after all these years of laying it to waste. He had been raised to hate it, raised to seek it out and destroy it. So why should it take pity on him in his time of need?

Now he had truly failed Merlin.

He reasoned, that if Merlin ever somehow miraculously made it through this, the young man should not be the one making decisions when his life was at stake. He was just too careless with his own life. It was absurd.

Gwen lowered herself onto her haunches next to Arthur's chair, her soft comforting hand squeezing his forearm gently to get his attention. And when he looked at her, he saw the pity and sorrow in her eyes. But whether they were for him or Merlin, he didn't know. He assumed both.

"Arthur," she spoke softly, as if she was coaxing a stubborn horse from its stall, "why don't you go and rest. You are still recovering. I can help Gaius look after Merlin here for a while and I promise to come get you should anything change."

Arthur was shaking his head even before she had finished talking. "No, I'm not leaving."

Gaius opened his mouth to argue but Arthur quickly shot him a glare and cut him off. "I'm. Not. Leaving."

The old physician looked like he wanted to continue but shut his mouth with a snap at the look Arthur shot him and just nodded his head. "Very well."

Arthur just leaned forward in the chair as Gwen and Gaius retreated to the main room—no doubt to talk about him—looking down at Merlin's pale face. He wondered if he was ever going to see it full of life again, full of warmth.

Almost without his permission, his hand reached out and brushed the damp fringe away from Merlin's forehead, instantly noting clammy skin beneath.

"Don't you dare give up, Merlin. I need you. I'll always need you."

* * *

_Merlin._

He groaned wishing the incessant voice would go away and leave him in peace. Was it impossible to let him sleep just once? Honestly.

_Young warlock, there will be no peace until you talk to me._

Merlin opened his eyes in surprise as he recognized the voice.

 _Kilgharrah?_ he asked, barely holding onto his hope.

 _I'm here young warlock_ , was the response and Merlin almost cried with relief and joy. Kilgharrah was here, he was here and not demanding something of him. Everything would be okay now.

Merlin frowned, realizing he didn't actually know where he was. The view above showed him nothing but blue sky with a splattering of clouds. So he was outside somewhere. He sat up gingerly, noting that he felt neither pain nor weakness. That was...odd. The last thing he remembered was his body giving out after the had attempted to heal Arthur. So he should be feeling so sort of repercussions.

Right?

And how on earth did he get outside?

Merlin looked around him, immediately recognizing his surroundings as he noted the wide open grassy space surrounded on all sides by thick dense forest. The clearing. He was in the clearing. Why was he in the clearing and when did he come out here? Nothing was making sense.

The young warlock huffed out in annoyance and in an effort to keep his rising panic at bay as he clambered to his feet. But before he could think more on it, the familiar sound of Kilgharrah's steady wing strokes approached and soon he was buffeted by the wind as the Great Dragon landed before him.

Kilgharrah bent his head in greeting as he gazed upon Merlin. "It is good to see you young warlock."

Merlin gaped up at the dragon, still not believing what was happening. _Kilgharrah! What—? How—? I don't understand. I thought you didn't hear my call?_

Kilgharrah looked down at him, his eyes betraying a guilt that Merlin had never seen. "No, Merlin, I did. I am sorry, I could not show myself. It was not the right time for the Once and Future King to know of me and incidentally, you."

Anger suddenly rose up suddenly in Merlin. He had left him, alone and afraid and thinking all was lost and hopeless. _How could you do that to me?! I thought I had failed! I thought destiny had given up on me! I wanted to die! You didn't even bother to tell me otherwise!_

Kilgharrah bared his teeth. "I tried to but your mind was in such chaos that nothing could penetrate it. And afterwards, I stayed close to Camelot in the hopes that you would hear me but your mind had completely shut down. It was only by some miracle that I was able to get through when the witch attacked."

Merlin's anger quelled at the dragon's words, but still refused to completely vanish. He still felt betrayed but understood that Kilgharrah wasn't at fault. Merlin had done it to himself, had shut the world out and locked the door. He had given up.

 _So that's it isn't it?_ Merlin sighed in defeat, looking up at the dragon. _That's the end. Its all over. Now I'm just,_ he paused glancing around again at the perfect spring day that surrounded him, _...here? Where is here by the way?_

Kilgharrah made a movement that could only be constituted as a dragon's version of a shrug. "Your mind conjured this place, Merlin. It reflects your memories and your desires. You will find yourself capable of many things here otherwise beyond your abilities." Was that a pointed look the dragon flashed him?

Merlin frowned before it suddenly dawned on him. Beyond his abilities. There was one thing he was now incapable of doing, one recent disability he found himself harboring.

"Is Arthur alive?" Merlin asked aloud slowly and hesitantly, afraid that it wouldn't work, that he had misinterpreted the dragon's implication. An overwhelming amount of joy flooded through Merlin's body as the words came out clear and articulate. Tears welled up in his eyes as a beaming grin spread across his face. Never in his life had he ever been so happy to hear the sound of his own voice. No silence, no frustration, no misunderstanding. Just words flowing fluently as his tongue—his tongue!—formed them with ease.

"Yes, young warlock, he is. And he is beside himself with worry for you." The dragon stared down at Merlin, his large eyes seeming to bore into Merlin's own soul. The grin on the young warlock's face faded as the dragon's words sunk in. Arthur was worried? Why would Arthur be worried?

"You mean, I'm not dead?" he asked. The words, the feel of his tongue working to form them, Merlin didn't think he would ever get enough of it. He never wanted to stop.

"That, young warlock, is up to you to decide," Kilgharrah responded cryptically. "Though I think its safe to say that if you stay here, sooner or later you would cease to exist in the living world."

"So, I'm not dead?" Merlin asked again, getting annoyed with the lack of a straight answer. Oh, who was he kidding, he never got straight answers from the giant lizard.

"You must decide, Merlin," was the only answer he received. Merlin sighed.

He had a decision to make. It should not have been a hard one to make but Merlin found himself contemplating everything from the hardships he was destined to face out in the world to Kilgharrah's every word and hint. And suddenly he found himself analyzing exactly why Kilgharrah thought this decision was a decision at all. It should have been clear that he needed to return, that he needed to fulfill his destiny and there was no other way around it. So then why did Kilgharrah think he would chose to pass on?

The realization hit Merlin like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs. He looked up at Kilgharrah, silently begging the dragon that his assumptions were wrong, that he had read the entire underlying truth _wrong_.

"It doesn't matter though, does it?" Merlin asked hesitantly, hoping beyond hope that Kilgharrah told him otherwise. "You can't give me back my tongue, can you?" He couldn't help but to hold onto hope even as he felt the truth overwhelming him.

Kilgharrah gazed down at him, eyes filling with a pity and sorrow unprecedented as he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I cannot. That is beyond any power that I know of."

Merlin clamped down on the overwhelming anguish that threatened to consume him so hard it physically hurt. But he couldn't stop the tears that trailed down his cheeks nor the hitch that accompanied his voice as he asked, "Is there no other way?"

"There is not," the Great Dragon answered evenly. "There are ways to restore your communicating abilities but none that are not noticeably magical."

Merlin knew this. He had done enough research and hunting through tomes and books to know that most solutions were clearly magical in origin to any observer. Arthur, the knights, everyone would know immediately of his magic or of magic's assistance if he were to use one such solution. But that didn't mean he liked to hear his suspicions confirmed by the one person, the one being that could have told him otherwise.

The anger suddenly swarmed back up through Merlin with a vengeance. "So I have to remain mute until destiny _decides_ it is the right time for Arthur to learn of my magic?"

"Yes, Merlin," Kilgharrah answered his voice full of remorse. "And not a moment sooner. I am truly sorry."

Merlin felt the anger swell even more until he couldn't contain it. With an inhuman roar, he let it out, magic exploding out of him in waves of aggression, flattening the grass that surrounded them and scattering the birds that had taken up residence with their tall blades. As it hit the edges of the clearing, the trees too whipped back at the force of pure magic that washed over them, breaking branches and trunks and spooking all wildlife within a fifty pace radius.

"I am nothing more than a puppet on a string then, doing as destiny commands despite the pain and suffering of not only me but those around me," Merlin yelled up at Kilgharrah as his magic settled, still agitated but no longer bursting out of him. He watched as Kilgharrah looked about them, before he too followed the dragon's gaze and glanced around, noticing for the first time the damage he had wrought upon the clearing and the surrounding forest. The damage from his _magic._

His anger subsided then, leaving him quickly as though it had never been there. "What's the use," he said quietly, misery filling him where the anger had so recently sat. "I can't even control my magic. I'm useless."

"You are magic itself, young warlock. It will always be under your control whether you know it or not."

"But I couldn't control it, can't control it, not even here," Merlin stated dejectedly, sagging a little where he stood. "It only seemed to obey me when the need was dire and Arthur's life was hanging on the balance."

Kilgharrah studied him then and Merlin had to try hard not to squirm under the intense scrutinization. "How often did you use your magic without the crutch of spoken words over the past years?"

"Uh, not very often," Merlin stated truthfully, wondering what the dragon was trying to get at. "Incantations and spells were more direct and made it easier to control."

"And yet when a king does not train, instead opting to let others fight for him, does he not lose muscle and strength?"

Merlin furrowed his brow, trying to understand the meaning behind the dragon's words. "So you're saying that my instinctual magic has lost its strength relying too much on the crutch of verbal spells? That I just need to train and work it back to its potential?"

Kilgharrah didn't answer, only looked meaningfully at Merlin.

"I'm trying to take that as a yes but it's hard without a clear affirmative," Merlin stated with annoyance as he glared up at Kilgharrah. Despite it, he couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face.

But Kilgharrah it seemed was not about to answer him. Instead he looked up at the clear sky as though it held all the answers. "It is time for you to chose, young warlock."

Confusion swept through Merlin. "Chose? Chose what?"

Again, Kilgharrah did not answer and instead inclined his head as he continued on, "I hope we meet again soon, if not in this life, then in the next." And with that, the Great Dragon spread his wings and with a few powerful strokes, was airborne and disappearing into the distance.

"Good talking to you too," Merlin grumbled to the empty clearing. Despite not having anyone to talk to, he still couldn't seem to get enough of the feeling of speaking. It was glorious being able to move his tongue, form words and actually communicate. He would never ever take it for granted again.

"Chose? I have to chose—oh...," he trailed off as Kilgharrah's meaning became clear.

Now was the time to chose whether or not he wanted to return to his life.

Return to the land of the living, to a mute existence, a world full of pain and misery and hiding who he really was. A half life, a miserable life spent playing out the role destiny had written for him. Here, he could speak, he could live in peace and serenity, able to communicate and talk freely and with ease. There was no pain, no disability, his magic singing pleasantly through his veins. But Kilgharrah had told him there was a way to control his magic, that he had always had the ability he just needed to train it back to full strength. But who knew how long that would take. Besides, even if it worked, did he really want to continue to worry and fear for his life around every turn?

And then there was Arthur.

Merlin sighed. That's what everything always came back to. Arthur, his friend, his king, the man he was not only destined to protect but that he had _personally_ vowed to protect. He couldn't leave him out there, fending for himself. Especially so soon after an attack from Morgana. No doubt she would try again when she heard he was not in fact dead. And Merlin couldn't and wouldn't leave him undefended. Not this time. He had failed him once already, there was no way he would do it again.

He had been so stupid before, so lost in his own pain and misery to realize that there were people who still needed him. That Arthur still needed him.

"I'm going to miss this," Merlin stated aloud one last time, feeling his tongue work, pressing up against the roof of his mouth and twist and move as the words formed. The feel alone, the joy from it was enough to cause his dwindling indecision to grow. But no, he couldn't. Arthur needed him. And besides, what use was having a tongue and being able to speak if there was no one around to talk to? One day, one day he would be back and he could spend the afterlife talking to his hearts content. But for now, he had a job to do.

It was as his resolved hardened, his choice final that a white fog descended upon the clearing, obscuring everything until all that remained was the suffocating fog all around. Merlin felt his breath grow more and more shallow until he could no longer draw any air in. It felt like he was underwater, the white around him turning steadily darker, trying to pull him further into its depths with the weight it held. And he struggled and thrashed, trying in vain to find the way up to escape the darkness before it could completely overwhelm him. But it was quickly descending and he could feel his lungs straining with the effort to keep going but he was losing the fight. He could feel himself sinking further and further, his struggles becoming weaker and weaker as the strength and air in his body ran out.

It seemed Arthur would just have to continue on without him.

 _Don't you dare give up, Merlin,_ a voice spoke through the darkness, a voice from ages ago it seemed. But Merlin instantly recognized the voice as Arthur. Arthur who would never give up on Merlin, who would never let him down even when it seemed like Merlin had given up himself.

And Merlin was determined to prove Arthur wrong on the latter. He was not going to give up. Not again. He had made that mistake once already and he was determined to never make it again. Not when Arthur still needed him.

A light shone directly in front of him then and he could hear Arthur's voice emanating from it. With one final effort, Merlin kicked toward the light, feeling the black descending for the last time. But before it could the light enveloped him and he broke through.

* * *

Despite the suffocating nature of Merlin's fight back to the land of the living, he did not awake with a gasp as he would have expected. Instead he woke slowly, agonizingly slowly as first his senses came back to him He could hear soft breathing nearby as the smell of herbs and something cooking invaded his nose. Then he felt the hardness of the bed beneath his—his bed he was sure of it—and the weight of a blanket or two on top, the threads worn and frayed under his fingertips. Then came the aches and pains that he really wished hadn't come back to him at all but knew were unavoidable. One didn't become malnourished, push his body to its limit expelling an enormous amount of magic in the process that he collapses from it all and awaken to no pain at all. It just wasn't done.

He groaned at the feeling, wishing he could just sink back into unconsciousness but knowing that if he did, he would most likely never awaken again. So he pushed on.

A movement to his right was heard, the ruffling of fabric and shifting of weight as someone became aware of his wakefulness.

"Merlin?" the person asked hesitantly as though they were trying hard not to get their hopes up.

Merlin smiled at the sound. He knew that voice, lived for that voice, protected the owner of that voice. That was the voice of a king, powerful and regal but at the moment laced with a fear and worry that Merlin wanted to shoo away.

And he resolved to do just that.

He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times to clear them, and attempted to shift his aching body. That, though turned out to be a mistake as the aches increased tenfold and he groaned louder at the pain. He hurt and he was surprised to feel weak, oh so weak. But it was good, it mean the was alive that he had made it back. Though he still wished it would let up slightly. He had been through enough already without adding to it.

"Gaius! Gaius, he's awake!"

Merlin winced and let out a very unmanly whimper at Arthur's call as the sound pierced through his brain and a fierce headache made itself known. Great, more to add to the palette of pains running rampant through his body.

"Sorry, Merlin," the king whispered softly as his face appeared in Merlin's line of sight. "How are you feeling?"

"Merlin?" Gaius' voice sounded from the doorway as the physician made his way over to the other side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin just stared up at them both for a second, shocked, before glaring at them unamused. _How do you think I feel?_ he tried to convey and it seemed Arthur got the gist of it as he broke out into a smile, letting out a small chuckle at the sight before nodding in understanding.

"Yes, right," Gaius said, looking from Arthur to Merlin clearly not understanding what had just occurred. "Well let's get some food into you. You feel up to it?"

Merlin nodded slowly, feeling the emptiness in his stomach and wanting nothing more than to quell the hunger pains.

And just like that things were back to normal.

Well, no, not really but as normal as they could be with all things considered.

Merlin's road to recovery after the attack was long and hard but he managed to make it through with very little mishaps. Arthur was there as much as he could be, helping to feed and strengthen Merlin back up. Gwen and Gwaine too made themselves useful when they could be but both seemed to recognize Arthur's need to be there by Merlin's side and build back up the friendship that had been so strained through the last few months. So they each made themselves scarce whenever the king came about—which was more often than not—making excuses of prior duties and desire to train which both Merlin and Arthur knew to be a lie but said nothing against.

In turn, Merlin made Arthur smile and laugh through his many silent ways. He even took to using the charcoal and parchment a couple of times much to both Gaius and Arthur's surprise. He tried hard to show the people around him, the people that cared about him, that he was better, that everything was going to be alright and he wasn't about to give up again. Granted the panic attacks didn't cease and there were still times that he felt the depression creeping back up and the frustration got the better of him, but it was easier now to remember his purpose, that there was hope still and that he was very much not useless.

For every night—that is after Merlin had gotten the okay from Gaius that he was fit to resume his duties and therefore was capable of leaving the confines of his bed without help—after he finished attending to Arthur, Merlin would escape out to the clearing and practice his magic, build back up the strength he needed to control it without words. Some nights, Kilgharrah would join him, instructing and guiding him through exercises and lessons that they had come up with and other times it was just Merlin and he let his magic fill him up, with its warmth and comfort being his only companion. It was times like these that he felt more alive and more free than any other. It was a time he could just be truly himself, not having to hide, to conceal who he really was.

Yes, the training was slow but he was getting better at control and casting magic nonverbally. His instincts were coming back to him gradually as his magic and mind remembered how to work without words and incantations. It was a struggle and on more than one occurrence Merlin didn't think he would ever succeed, but then he would return to his bed and see Arthur the next morning and know that he couldn't give up, could never give up. He was strong and he would overcome this. After all, he had overcome everything else. This was just another obstacle in his complicated life that he needed to conquer.

And he would. It would just take some time.

But he was determined now more than ever before. He had purpose again, a reason to keep going. He wasn't useless, he still had his magic and he was still a dragonlord.

And he still had Arthur.

Arthur, who he was going to continue to stand beside, protecting him and guiding him on his path toward becoming the Once and Future King. Help him to be all that he could be. And Arthur it seemed was happy to let Merlin do so.

Just a little over a week after Merlin had been cleared to resume his duties, he was polishing Arthur's armor in the armory when the sound of footsteps approaching reached his ears. He looked up and watched as the door opened revealing Arthur, dressed for the meeting he was supposed to be in attendance of.

Merlin frowned, raising an eyebrow in question at Arthur as he approached. But Arthur ignored him, instead just stating, "I need you to attend the meeting with me Merlin," and beckoned for Merlin to follow him as he turned and exited the armory.

Merlin, now even more confused than before, quickly set down the gorget and polishing rag and following Arthur's quickly retreating figure. He caught up quickly enough, breathing a little heavier than necessary for such a short distance—he was still in the last stages of recovery so it was to be expected—and walked beside his king toward the council chambers.

Arthur had made a point that morning to excuse Merlin from attending to him during the meeting, saying that another servant was going to be do so in his place. Merlin had found it a bit odd really. He always attended the meetings and looked after Arthur, making sure his cup never ran dry. But he hadn't questioned it much this morning thinking Arthur was just letting him take it easy after all he had been through.

So then why was he all of a sudden being called in? Perhaps the other servant fell ill or they were one hand short. Whatever the reason, Arthur wanted him there and well, they were now late.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin as they approached the council doors and Merlin swore he saw a mischievous grin pass over his features before he faced forward, his regal mask falling into place as the guards beside the door opened them for their sovereign.

At their entrance, every face turned toward the door. Everyone was there, the knights, the council, Gwen and Gaius, and a splattering of servants along the outskirts with pitchers of wine and water in their hands waiting to be called forth to refill goblets.

Arthur, without a word of apology for his obvious tardiness, strode over to his place at the round table and stood before the council. Merlin followed steadily behind, looking about for his pitcher of water or wine that he was to stand at attendance with.

There wasn't one. That was certainly odd.

It was as he stood awkwardly behind Arthur that Merlin noticed the extra seat. Yes, normally there was an empty place next to Gwen—always empty and never filled for that was the place Lancelot would have been. It still pained Merlin to think about it—but there was one more nestled innocently between Arthur and Gaius. A place at Arthur's right hand. A place that was usually occupied by Gaius himself, who had apparently been moved over one and looked no less happy about the addition. In fact, he seemed almost elated.

What on earth was going on?

"Lords, ladies, knights, and councilmen," Arthur addressed to the room. "Before we begin, I would like to make an announcement. I am sure you are all wondering why there is an extra space here beside me at the table." At this, everyone's eyes shot over to the empty seat, as if noticing for the first time though Merlin was sure he couldn't have been the only one to have noticed it upon arrival. "For years now I have been ignorant to the wise and coveted advice from one of my closest friends. Due to recent events, I now understand all that he has done for me and how completely lost I would be without him." Merlin felt a mixture of dread and shock creep up his throat at Arthur's words. He couldn't be serious? No, there was no way. "He has stood by my side, guiding me and advising me and without him, I would not be the man I am today. He has also saved my life probably more times than I even know about. It is for these reasons that I have decided to make him my official court advisor and he shall take the place here at my right hand henceforth." Arthur gestured to the open space beside his chair then turned and faced Merlin, who found himself rooted to the spot in shock. "That is, only if he so desires."

Every eye in the room turned to stare at Merlin, some in open shock like himself, some with indifference and some in obvious joy. But he was barely able to process any of it. Even if he had the ability to speak, Merlin knew he would be at a loss for words. But he did manage to close his mouth, just having realized it had been gaping open as Arthur waited for his response. He glanced over at Gaius briefly, seeing the grin upon the old man's face and the small nod he gave the young servant in encouragement. Every one of his friends, Gwen, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, Elyan, even a few servants around the edges, were smiling at him encouragingly.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice sounded again, "do you accept?"

Finally Merlin looked back at Arthur, seeing the obvious desire, gratitude, and understanding in his eyes. Merlin only hesitated for another second before giving him a small nod in response.

Arthur gestured to the chair beside him once more, a clear invitation this time for Merlin to take his appointed seat. Merlin nervously strode forward, and gingerly sat down, fearful that this was all a dream, all a prank on him and it would all be taken away in a second.

But nothing happened.

Gaius patted Merlin's forearm comfortingly, and placed a roll of parchment and pot of ink with a quill before him. Merlin glanced over wide-eyed at Gaius. "Anything you wish to say," Gius said with a nod at the tools he had just placed before the young man, "just write it down I'll be your voice."

"That's not necessary Gaius," Arthur interrupted from the Merlin's left and his head whipped around to stare at Arthur. Arthur only gazed back evenly as he stated, "I'll do it."

"As you wish, sire," Merlin heard Gaius say but he was too busy staring at Arthur in awe. It was in that moment that Merlin realized how true the king's words had been. Arthur had changed. He had changed quite a bit from the arrogant prat that he first met all those years ago, taunting and bullying a servant. Merlin smirked. He may not take complete credit for the changes in Arthur but he couldn't deny that he had a hand in it.

And hey, maybe this change had more hidden benefits. Maybe this meant he no longer had to—

"No Merlin, this does not mean you get to slack on your chores," Arthur stated without even looking over at Merlin. It truly was amazing how Arthur knew exactly what he was thinking sometimes. "But nice try."

Merlin couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Things really were changing, but for once, they were changing for the better.

Arthur cleared his throat then, gathering the attention of everyone in the room once more. "Now, let's get down to business. First things first," he said loudly, voice strong and professional. "There is a band of renegade slavers out there who are just vying for Camelot's attention. I think it's high time we gave it to them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's the end. Might be a sequel one-shot later on but I gotta write it first. Keep a look out for it sometime in the future :D
> 
> Until then, have fun, be safe, and don't die. Oh, and stay magical, my friends.


End file.
